


Canis Major

by mrnovember89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Remus Lupin, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Gay Sirius Black, M/M, Marauders, POV Remus Lupin, The Marauder's Map, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:35:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28833531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrnovember89/pseuds/mrnovember89
Summary: Snape’s words echoed along the corridor behind me, mingling with my footsteps. I do not trust you .If only he could understand how little I trusted myself. How could you trust a person who transformed into a monster each month?But there was another nagging concern tugging at the hems of my patched robes as I aimlessly roamed through the castle. Thus far I had ignored it, pushed it out of my mind, but a part of me wondered if Severus Snape had the right of it, because for nearly two decades, I had kept a few other secrets to myself, even from Dumbledore. Not only was I a werewolf, which of course none of my students knew, and not only had I been schoolmates with now notorious mass murderer at-large Sirius Black, but I knew a secret about him. Something no one else alive was privy to.Sirius Black was an Animagus, and I hadn’t told a soul in twenty years.The events of Harry Potter's third year at Hogwarts, as told from the perspective of Professor Lupin. Inspired by the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. (I don’t own these characters, TERFs suck, etc.)
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. The Job Offer

Rain lashed against the windows, already obscured by condensation. I considered cracking it open for some fresh air before the train began its long journey, but the latch was jammed shut, or possibly charmed that way by some mischievous student. In the end I decided it wasn’t worth the effort to see a smudged glimpse of London before the countryside gave way to night. I was too tired. And perhaps being blind to the familiar scenes of the voyage to Scotland would make the trip easier. I stuffed my luggage on the rack above the seats and slumped onto the battered red bench. That was something the train and I had in common. The upholstery and I were more worn than the last time we took a ride together. 

Even my suitcase had seen better days. I mended the tattier edges of the hold all with Spello-tape before setting out early that morning, but to no avail. Not that it owed me any favors at this point. It had been in my service for over 15 years but I didn’t have the pocket money to replace it, so like many other old and ugly things in my life, I hung on to it. 

I was alone in the compartment, aside from a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ on the opposite bench. I flipped it over, ignoring the photograph staring up from the front page. The train was empty and—for the moment—quiet. I arrived early with this precise goal in mind, hoping to make my way to the back of the train and find a corner to myself before the students arrived. That way I could avoid familiar faces and awkward questions on the platform. And with any luck, catch a few hours of sleep before the Hogwarts school year began. 

_Hogwarts_. I was looking forward to it, I had to admit, but I had known since Dumbledore’s visit that it was bound to bring some uncomfortable feelings. Like these. Like being alone on this train for the first time since I was eleven. 

He had too, I think. That man has an uncanny way of reading people, especially his old students. His bluebell eyes darkened a shade after he made the job offer to me. 

“I dare say being at the school won’t be the same without your friends,” he said, then carefully averted his gaze down his long nose. “But Hogwarts would welcome you back.” 

“Of course I’ll come back,” I said instantly. No need to think twice there. Whatever the emotional consequences were, it would be better than my current situation. Unemployed in London and scrounging for work. London was an expensive city and steady employment hard to come by for someone like me, but I couldn’t stray too far away from the capitol, as every month I had to come whimpering back to the hospital of St. Mungos. 

“Well then, I look forward to sharing the good news with the staff,” said Dumbledore, leaning back in the pink chintz chair he had magicked out of thin air upon his arrival. “Minerva will be delighted.” 

I smiled at the thought of seeing my old transfiguration teacher. Working alongside my former professors would take some adjustment, but I could handle it. Even as a student I had always gotten on well with the adults, usually finding I had more in common with them than my peers. Then something less welcome crossed my mind. 

“Professor,” I asked. He raised an eyebrow. “Professor—“

“Please, call me Albus. We are going to be colleagues, after all.” 

“Sorry, sir,” I muttered. (I really couldn’t call him Albus just yet. It just didn’t feel right.) “Is Severus Snape still teaching at the school as well?” 

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, clasping his hands in front of his midnight blue robes. “I wondered if you might bring up that little snag. Yes, he is indeed still our Potions Master, but I can assure you that Severus has my complete confidence. Though I realize the feeling may not be mutual between the two of you, at least to start, I trust that it won’t be a problem?”

A hazy image floated to mind of a pale boy’s face peeking through the gloom of an earthy tunnel. I crouched, muscles clenching to leap, to tear. He reeked of frog spawn and smoke. The sneer curling on his lips twisted, surprised, into something else as he held up the trapdoor. Beady eyes grew wide as he saw me in the moonlight filling the ramshackle room. But then another boy arrived—he had a familiar scent—and pulled the sallow one away, yanking the door down over their heads. And not a moment too soon. I leapt forward, claws scrabbling against the dented boards of the trapdoor, howling in dismay at the prey vanishing so soon. 

“For my part, no,” I said. 

“Excellent. In fact, I am glad you mentioned Professor Snape,” said Dumbledore. “Because I was thinking—London is terribly far away, and I don’t see how your classes could spare you for three days a month for a trip to St. Mungos. If you’re comfortable with it, I thought Severus might brew your potion and save you the trip.”

I blanched. Dumbledore mistook my dismay. 

“I know, it’s a rather new method of treatment. Of course if that’s not acceptable—“ 

Severus brewing me the remedy wasn’t what bothered me, oddly enough. It was the realization that I would be back at the school, surrounded by students during my transformations. All those vulnerable children, and me. Alone. Without my friends who I once could have counted on to keep me in line when I couldn’t control myself. I thought of being back in the Shack with its boarded up windows and rotting furniture without them and shuddered. 

“No sir, I—that’s fine. I was just wondering where I would go. Back to the Shack, I suppose?” 

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary, or advisable, to be frank. Poppy and I discussed it, and we believe it will be perfectly safe for you to remain on the grounds as long as the potion is being administered regularly. You may even stay in your office when the time comes, if you like. We’ll take all the necessary precautions.” He raised his hand gently, anticipating my protests, but I actually sighed with relief. I nodded, even allowing myself a small grin. 

“That sounds quite alright, professor.”

“ _Please,_ call me Albus,” he said. “With that all arranged, I’ll have an owl deliver the paperwork to you this afternoon.” He rose from the table and the chintz armchair vanished. 

I smiled again and shook his hand, feeling twice the man I had that morning when he knocked on my door. Again, there’s something about Dumbledore that can have that effect. I was already packing in my mind, not that I had many belongings to bring along, and wondering whether or not I could afford a new set of robes before the start of term.

“Which reminds me,” said the headmaster. His expression now turned serious. “You won’t have heard of course, because I’ve just had the news from Cornelius myself.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but if Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic was involved, then it must have been serious indeed. The grin vanished from my face. 

“There has been an incident,” he went on slowly. “And it would probably be best if we discussed it now, as it will affect the school year ahead. And I think you might rather prefer to hear it from, well, _a friend_ , than in the papers. I fear even Fudge cannot keep this quiet for long.”

Although Dumbledore had my utmost respect, calling himself my friend was surely stretching the definition of our relationship. Teacher and pupil yes, but friend? I didn’t have any friends left, something which Dumbledore himself was perfectly well aware of. Whatever it was he was about to say, he had felt the need to sugar coat it. This wasn’t going to be good news. But as far as bad news goes, I had more than my fair share of practice receiving it over the years. I am made of sterner stuff than I appear. I crossed my arms, and tried to keep my tone light.

“An incident, you say?” 

“Yes, at Azkaban,” he said with a long look at me. My guts twisted into a knot. He gazed away out the dirty window of the tenement apartment, then sighed. “Well, Remus. Frankly I can’t explain how it happened any better than the next man, but no matter the means, the outcome is still the same, so I see little point in dithering about with how to say it. Sirius Black has escaped.” 

I lurched uncontrollably in my seat, as though I had just taken a blow to my chest. 

“Escaped?” I asked, my voice hoarse. 

“I am afraid so,” said Dumbledore. And he sounded like he meant it. “Naturally, Cornelius alerted me for fear of the safety of the students. One student in particular.”

 _Harry_. Of course. He would have been Hogwarts age by now. Merlin’s beard.

“As such, the ministry deems it necessary to put certain security measures in place at the school. Dementors will be stationed around the grounds, and watching over the Hogwarts Express this year,” Dumbledore went on frowning. It felt as though a dementor had just walked into the room, and all the joy that had been there moments ago was sucked away beneath its hood. The headmaster shook his head. 

“Needless to say, I objected, but on this matter even I have little sway. As I understand it, the Muggle Prime Minister is to be informed.” 

Dumbledore peered at me through his half moon spectacles, a curious silver gleam in his blue eye. I suddenly felt as though I were some sort of a specimen, an experiment, something he was intrigued by and waiting to see how I would react. I took a few even breaths and met his gaze. 

“And why are you telling me now?” I asked. 

His eyes sparkled, as though I had gotten a question right. 

“If that might affect your decision to accept the offer of your employment, I thought you ought to know.” 

“It doesn’t,” I said.

“Good, I thought not,” he said brusquely, and turned towards the door. “I’ve already assured certain members of the staff that we need not fear any of your old school friends dropping by unannounced. And I am terribly sorry about the dementors—I have begged Cornelius to reconsider, but I am afraid it fell on deaf ears. They have been reliable to him so far, and well, you know what they say about teaching old dogs new tricks.” He was gone with a wink.

His news did not change my mind. If anything, I felt more compelled to be at the school. Someone would need to keep an eye on Harry. It was the least I could do for James and Lily, or their memory, at least.

I leaned back against the squashy red bench of the train and closed my eyes. I would deal with that as it came along. For now, I was on the Hogwarts Express, its engine humming merrily beneath me, and I was on my way to a job, a _steady_ job with room and board. I could already taste the pumpkin juice. 

It would be a fine balance, though, this teaching business. Not that I didn’t already have one very large, hairy, monthly reason to keep to myself more than the rest of the staff, Dumbledore’s news was a fresh problem to be reckoned with. Surely not everyone at the school would be as welcoming as the headmaster, and there would be some who would not have forgotten who I kept company with as a student at Hogwarts. Nevermind the bloody Azkaban guards hovering around the grounds. Honestly, they were likely to be the least of my worries. 

Dementors were one thing. They were predictable and could be dealt with. But Sirius Black? That was another story. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. The First Train Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus recalls his first journey to Hogwarts where he meets his friends, the Marauders, when his memories are interrupted by a disturbance on the train.

_ I picked at the cut scabbing on my hand from the last full moon, staring out the window of the station. The train was starting to fill up now and I could hear the other kids crowding the compartments, ricocheting down the corridor. Steam roiled over the platform where parents hugged their children goodbye. Every single one of them looked older, smarter, funnier, and richer than me.  _

I slumped back against the seat, mindlessly watching a kind-faced, doughy witch fawn over her flaxen haired son. He squinted and squirmed but looked comforted by the coddling. I couldn’t help comparing it with my own goodbyes. The look of relief on my parents’ faces that they tried so hard to disguise, that I was going away to be someone else’s problem, someone else’s hopeless case come the full moon. I was to report to the deputy headmistress as soon as I arrived at the school the Headmaster had said; they had made many accommodations for me, and now my parents could spend their whole months worry-free. 

The squat blonde boy was now crying into his mother’s arms as she hugged him. A severe looking wizarding family walked by them, the mother and father scowling in disdain at the affectionate scene. Actually the whole family was scowling, including the two dark haired boys trailing behind the adults, the older of whom was dragging a trunk. He was busy looking down at his mother’s feet striding in front of him and therefore didn’t see the third boy wearing glasses on a collision course, waving a broomstick and doing a sort of jig with it down the platform as his parents tagged along behind, laughing. The boys tripped each other up, trunk tumbling to the side and glasses falling to the platform, and the adults began to squabble. I sighed and went back to my book,  _ The Three Musketeers _ . 

Dumas was actually pretty good, it turned out. Plenty of adventure and exciting bits that I could imagine, but the friendships on the page were nothing like my own life, which was largely solitary by design, even at age eleven. Hopefully I could just stay here in this compartment by myself, reading, until we got to the school. And then I could see the headmistress. And then I would go to my room, and read, and get up and eat breakfast and read and then go to my classes. Maybe I could read enough so that everyone would get the message that I wasn’t someone they should be friends with, and that I should be left alone, which in the end was entirely in the best interest of everyone around me because who on earth would want to be friends with a _were—_

The compartment door slid open. I jumped as the train began to pull away from the station, and the black haired boy whose parents were so snooty on the platform kicked his trunk into the compartment then slammed the door shut behind him. His eyes flicked up at me and then instantly down to his feet as he propped one up on the bench and scrunched himself up on the seat. Clearly he wasn’t interested in making friends either. Fine with me. I went back to my book. Eventually the trundle of the train simmered away the silence between us and it was easy to forget that someone else was even in the compartment with me. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“Sorry?” My head jerked up and I jumped a second time. The boy was staring at me. Oh god, had he been staring at me this whole time? I winced at the thought. 

“You’re hand.” The boy’s grey eyes danced over my hand as he pointed.

I put my book down to find my scab was now raw and red. I hadn’t even noticed that I was picking at it while I read.  _ What an idiot.  _

“Oh,” I said, then lifted my hand up to my mouth to suck off the blood. Great, now there would probably be rumors that I was a vampire  _ and _ a werewolf before we even got to Hogwarts. 

“Here.” He offered me a grey silk handkerchief. It looked like it cost more than my ratty suitcase and everything in it. 

“Oh, I couldn’t,” I said then wrapped my fist in the cuff of my jumper. “I’ll be fine.”

“Please,” he insisted. “I’ve got about fifty of these in my trunk. You’d be doing me a favor.” 

It was too late—he was already standing up in front of me and wrapping it around my hand. Embroidered into the fabric with black thread were the initials  _ SOB _ . He gently tied a knot, then sat down. I couldn’t help but notice that he was very well dressed. A high collared cloak clasped at his neck with a silver starburst brooch and his black silk vest swirled with serpents embroidered in silver. The trunk he kicked aside earlier was equally posh with the same letters as his handkerchief, painted across the black leather in ornately brushed silver ink. 

“Thank you,” I mumbled, wishing I could evaporate into the fabric of the seats. We’d barely left the station and I already managed to need a bandage. Remus Lupin, perpetual hopeless case and frequent hospital resident. I went back to my book, but he interrupted me again.

“How did you do it?” 

“Do what?”

“Get cut,” the boy asked, as though I were a bit slow in the head. 

“Oh,” I said, wondering why I hadn’t thought of a plausible explanation for this before I got on the train. “I—“

But I never got to finish my sentence because at that moment the ridiculous boy with the broomstick slammed into the window of the compartment and pulled a face before sliding open the door. 

“Oi, mind if Peter and I join you?” He was the complete opposite of my current traveling companion—disheveled hair, glasses repaired but askew, and a lopsided goofy smile on his face. Behind him the blonde boy from the platform looked hopeful and a little lost, as if he’d love nothing more than to be welcomed in. 

“Uh,” I shrugged and looked across the compartment. The boy sitting across from me looked indifferent, as though nothing could possibly bore him more than if these two walked in. Seeing as he didn’t actively object, though, I nodded and the two entered.

“Hi, I’m James Potter,” said the bespeckled boy, setting the broomstick aside and thrusting out his hand. I awkwardly put my book down to shake it, hoping he wouldn’t notice or wonder about the bandage, but he said nothing. He nodded behind him. “This is Peter Pettigrew.” 

Peter sat tremulously down on the same bench as me, eyeing the silent boy across the compartment uneasily, as though he feared he would get uninvited. 

“I’m Remus Lupin,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a secret—it was printed on my trunk and my mother had carefully sewn my name into tags on all my jumpers and school robes so they wouldn’t get lost in the wash. The quiet boy smirked at the name. 

“What?” I asked, trying to let my nerves sneak into my voice. 

“Nothing,” he drawled, still quirking his mouth.

“Well it’s better than having initials that spell son-of-a-bitch,” I snapped defensively, before I could stop myself. 

“Ohhhh!” Squealed Peter and James laughed. 

“Are you calling my mother a bitch?” The boy hadn’t moved, but there was a soft edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before; cool and unreadable like his grey eyes.

“I’d—I’d like to know what else it stands for then,” I stammered, back pedaling on my bravado from a moment before. I felt embarrassed. This boy had been kind to me a moment ago, and this was how I repaid him. Maybe he had just meant it as a joke. But maybe it had all been a ruse to make fun of me. I curled my jumper around my hand, which I had started picking at again through the now-stained silk handkerchief. Peter looked anxious and James curious at what the boy would do in response to my weak challenge. Then something unexpected happened. He let out a laugh like a bark.

“You weren’t far off, mate,” he said. “My mum’s a right hag. And my name is Sirius. Sirius Orion Black.”

James looked over at Sirius with an appraising eye, taking in the snakes curling up the boy’s vest for the first time.

“You angling for Slytherin, then?” He said it with a tinge of distaste.

“My whole lot’s been in Slytherin,” said Sirius, once again with that curiously unreadable expression that made everyone fall silent. Then he grinned. “But I’ve never been one to honor family traditions.” 

The tension slipped away with his smile, which now came more easily and had genuine warmth in it. James boasted about Gryffindor house, Peter squirmed and worried about where he would end up, guessing that he would probably be in Hufflepuff. Sirius laughed, wondering what his parents would say if he ended up in Gryffindor. I fretted quietly in the corner, hoping privately for Ravenclaw, but it was overshadowed by anxiety about what would happen when I put the Sorting Hat on my head—had it ever tried to sort someone like me before? 

I shivered in the compartment as the fear washed over me in a growing, anxious tide. What if I when walked into the Great Hall tonight I would be sent away from the staff table, unfit to dine with the other teachers? Half-awake in the dream of remembering my first train ride, I turned into the corner of the compartment which had grown ice cold. Instead of the smiles and laughter of my friends on our first journey to Hogwarts, I heard anxious worries and hushed voices spoken in the dark. 

_ “Dumbledore says there’s a spy, Remus, we’ve got to be careful, it could be anyone...“ Peter’s whisper after an Order meeting. _

_ “Lily and I have to play it safe now. We’ve got Harry to worry about.” James, sounding more strained than a young father should, weighing the decision of whether or not to go into hiding. _

_ Sirius’ piercing grey eyes, shining like moonlight on the sea, one quiet night in the darkened flat. _

_ “Do you really think I could lie to you, Remus?”  _

_ The hurt in his voice that I had even asked. The doubt that lurked in my heart, even as he answered. _

_ It was all my fault. I should have known… _

Suddenly other worried voices filled the air—voices of children—against the shrill scream of pistons seizing up to bring the train to a halt. The chill set into my bones so deeply that I awoke in the dark to the confusion of luggage and students tumbling around in the dark. Alert now, I knew what that particular cold meant and why those thoughts had crept into my dreams among the other frightened voices filling the compartment. I stood up, conjuring fire in my fist. 

“Quiet!”


	3. An Unwelcoming Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus arrives at Hogwarts and is greeted by his new colleagues, some of whom are less than enthusiastic about his appointment to the staff.

_ Dumbledore— _

_ A Dementor boarded the Express just outside of Hogsmeade to search the train for Sirius Black. Harry reacted badly to it. We’ll be at the castle shortly. Perhaps he should see Madame Pomphrey upon arrival.  _

_ —Lupin _

I set the barn owl loose from the driver’s cab at the back of the train and off into the drizzling night. Perhaps I was being overbearing, but thoughts of James and Lily filled my head at the sight of Harry—who looked so uncannily like his father that I didn’t need to ask him his name—reeling on the train. What nightmares had revisited the boy in the dementor’s presence I could only imagine. Was it Voldemort? Did he see his parents, lying dead in their house in Godric’s Hollow?

My patronus was as incorporeal as it had been for—well, a rather long time to be honest—but it did the trick, banishing the dementor from the compartment and driving it from the train. I thought of the happiest thing that I could in that instant; the same compartment, filled years ago with my best friends. James’ laughter in my ears instead of the dementor’s horrible breathing. I reminded myself of what it felt like to be loved, to be accepted, to laugh with people who cared about you. 

I looked around the compartment as I returned from sending the owl. Harry’s friends, a bushy haired girl named Hermione and a ginger boy called Ron were helping him back onto the bench. Another red-head whose name was Ginny shivered and shook where she sat. I had to do another double take at the fourth rider. The spitting image of Frank Longbottom sat across from the girl, his eyes forlorn and staring at the carpet for something that wasn’t there. 

How could they have let the dementor on a train full of children? It was ghastly. Hundreds of unqualified witches and wizards in high spirits would make a ripe meal for dementors prowling the countryside. Fortunately, I had planned ahead thanks to Dumbledore’s warning before term. I popped open my tatty suitcase and pulled out a bar of chocolate, and passed it around to the children, making sure that Harry got the largest piece of all. It occurred to me in that moment, that if I didn’t look out for him, who would? 

I nibbled on a chunk of chocolate myself as a carriage drew up beside me in the rain among the whispering children on the Hogsmeade Platform. Naturally the news of Harry’s fainting spell had spread through the train like a case of Dragon Pox. That was one thing I didn’t miss about school—the tenaciously infectious gossip. I tried to squelch it as best I could, but I worried that being overprotective of Harry, though well-intentioned, would only make matters worse for the boy. His friends from the train stood close about him though, as mine once did, looking ready to protect him no matter the cost. He would be alright, I told myself as we were swept apart by the crowd.

Besides I was getting some funny looks on the platform myself. The students weren’t used to sharing the train with a teacher. It must have seemed a bit odd. I hopped into the carriage at the front of the line, hoping to get to the school slightly ahead of the children. 

Another wave of weakness and worry dashed against me as the carriage passed through the gates. I could just make out the shadows of the dementors against the night—their hooded figures darker and more ominous than the rain soaked sky above. Nausea swept over me and for a moment, I succumbed into the despair I fought off earlier on the train.

_ “Mummy, close the window, please,” I had asked her.  _

_ “Of course, darling,” she had said as she began tucking me in, but she was distracted by my father coming home from work and walked away before closing the latch. Their voices echoed down the hallway towards the kitchen. I looked back towards the window.  _

_ The man was standing there again. He had been there earlier when I was playing with my toys before dinner, eyes leering in the twilight, a twisted grin on a hairy face full of long and yellow teeth. He said nothing but continued to smile as he crept in over the sill… _

_ Wounds that wouldn’t heal, and then my first transformation. The pain of bones reforming, fur sprouting furiously from my skin. The crack and snap of my jaw as my nose lengthened into a pointed snout. Wild thoughts raced through me. A desire to bite, to gnaw, to hunt. The once familiar shapes and smells of my childhood bedroom shifting into an unknown landscape... _

_ Hagrid at the door to my flat, where I was still recovering from the full moon. I had injured myself badly this time and preferred to convalesce at home rather than in the hospital. Two weeks wasted that just brought me closer to the next cycle. I was alone. Sirius and I had had a fight the night I asked if he was the spy, and he had not returned since. I hadn’t seen him for over a week.  _

_ Tears leaked out of Hagrid’s crinkled eyes. Through shuddered breaths he managed to say the names Lily and James—that alone was enough to gut me—but then it got worse.  _

_ “Remus,” he choked. “It was Sirius. It was him. And he got Pettigrew, too.”  _

I straightened up. We were beyond the gates and approaching the stairs to the castle. I wolfed down the last of my chocolate and gathered up my things. The castle was a welcome sight, as was the stern witch in tartan robes standing in the golden light of the entrance hall. I couldn’t help smiling as I got out of the carriage to greet her, though her mouth was drawn in its usual thin line. 

“Professor McGonagall,” I said and shook her hand.

“Remus,” she said in a sharp voice, but with a fondness in her eyes. “Thank goodness—someone competent at last. You should have seen the last man they hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Biggest blithering idiot Hogwarts has ever seen.”

“Wasn’t it that author chap?” 

“Don’t remind me,” she said in a withering tone. Then in her usual crisp voice, “Poppy will be along in just a moment for the Potter boy.”

“Dumbledore got my owl, then?” 

She nodded, then frowned and shook her head. 

“Dementors at Hogwarts,” she muttered as the students started to hop out of the carriages on the drive, their feet crunching on the wet gravel. “I never thought I would see the day.” 

_ We never thought we’d see a lot of things _ , I mused. Who could have predicted that the guards of Azkaban would one day be posted around this school, trying to keep one of its own out?

“You run up to the feast now, Lupin. You look as though you could do with a decent meal.” 

Suddenly I felt very much like her pupil again, but didn’t mind as I made my way up to the entrance hall half-smiling to myself. Knowing that Minerva McGonagall was happy to see me buoyed my spirits, and I could feel the horror of the dementors slipping away. And if anything else was going to cure it, seeing the Great Hall of Hogwarts would. 

Candles flickered over the tables and the stormy sky outside was reflected in the cathedral ceiling above. I strode up to the staff table to find that my old professors were there, smiling and ready to shake my hands. Flitwick jovially exclaimed “Prefect first, now professor—what’s next for you, Remus? Minister of Magic?” 

“I think Professor Lupin might have too much sense to take on that particular occupation,” said Dumbledore, smiling over his half moon spectacles at me. Then, in an undertone. “Thank you for the owl, by the way. Is Harry alright?”

“Yes, I think he will be,” I said. “I gave him some chocolate on the train.”

“Ah, that will please Madame Pomphrey,” Dumbledore nodded. 

“Over here, Remus!” Hagrid gestured at me enthusiastically from the end of the table, narrowly avoiding hitting Professor Sprout with his large hands. “Saved you a seat!” 

The hall filled up with students, and Professor Flitwick began the sorting ceremony, though I noticed Harry was still missing from the hall as I sat down beside the game keeper.

“Bloody relief ter be teachin’ with you, Remus,” said Hagrid. “After all those twits they got before you. None of ‘em lasted more than a year.” 

“I’m sorry, did you say teaching with me?” I asked, surprised. Hagrid blushed.

“Oh, well, I wasn’t s’posed ter say nothin’, but the niffler’ll be out of the bag soon enough,” he muttered quietly. “Dumbledore’s going ter announce it any minute, I ‘spect. How ‘bout those dementors, eh?” He said with a shiver. 

“Not the warmest welcome for my first night back at Hogwarts,” I confessed, hoping that Hagrid wasn’t about to bring up the manticore in the room, but he’s Hagrid, and therefore can’t help himself...

“Reminds me of being in Azkaban,” he said, oblivious. “You know, you were the first one I thought of when I hear the news abou’ Siri—“

“Perhaps another time, Rubeus?” I said pointedly. He looked a bit hurt, and I felt badly for snapping at him, but honestly this was  _ not _ the time. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit tired from the journey—“

“That’s alrigh’,” said Hagrid genially, waving his hand again. (Professor Sprout dodged just in time) “It’s good ter see yeh, Remus. Ev’ry one’s glad you’re here!” 

Well,  _ everyone _ was an exaggeration. It was not lost on me that beyond the beaming faces of most of my colleagues, at the opposite end of the staff table sat Severus Snape, eyeing me with an expression that would have curdled Polyjuice potion. A violent mixture of rage and disgust seemed to be doing battle on his face and though neither emotion had mastery just yet, his sentiments were more than clear. I sighed deeply. This year might not go as easily as Dumbledore thought it would. 

Finally, I saw Harry come into the hall and take a seat with the Gryffindors ( _ of course he was in Gryffindor! _ ) looking slightly harassed but recovered. McGonagall followed him in and made her way up to the staff table.

I stared down at my plate as the headmaster began his welcome speech. How would I manage this? I needed Severus as an ally—he would be brewing the Wolfsbane potion for me after all—but his countenance suggested that he was not ready to be amiable. I however, was in no position to make enemies. I needed his help. Perhaps if I were as polite to him as possible and kept things professional, then at least my other colleagues could not cast aspersions on my conduct with him, and I could feel that I had held up my end of the bargain. It wasn’t my best plan, but it would have to do.

I hardly noticed that Dumbledore had introduced me until Hagrid was pushing me up to receive a mortifying round of scattered applause, coming chiefly from the Gryffindor table where I recognized the students I sat with on the train. Wishing that I could disappear under James’ old invisibility cloak (which made me wonder—where had that thing gone to?) I squirmed back down into my seat to clap for Hagrid, who had a thunderous reception by comparison at the announcement of his appointment.

“Never though’ I’d see the day,” he burbled to me in between loud toots from blowing his nose into the table cloth. 

“Congratulations, Hagrid,” I said heartily. “What creatures will you be teaching first?”

“Got some hippogriffs lined up for termorrow,” he said. “Gonna be a real treat!”

I frowned. 

“Aren’t those a bit advanced for the first class? Wouldn’t it be better to save those until next term?” 

“I reckon they can handle it,” he said, waving a hand and knocking the hat off of Professor Sprout’s head and into an empty soup tureen. “Hippogriff’s ain’t nothin’ ter worry abou’.”

“Indeed, considering how much time the students will spend this year familiarizing themselves with the habits of werewolves, I should think a herd of hippogriffs will be no trouble at all,” hissed a voice behind me. I turned in my chair to see Severus looming behind me in his black robes, a nasty sneer on his face.  _ Here we go _ . 

“Good evening, Professor Snape,” I said with as much polite indifference as I could muster. Hagrid was now profusely apologizing to Professor Sprout as she reclaimed her hat from the serving dishes. He had apparently taken no notice of Snape’s snide comment. 

“Lupin,” said Snape. “This place must truly be going to the dogs if they’ve hired you for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.” 

“Dumbledore seems to think I’m up to the challenge,” I replied. “Which I would think should be a sufficient vote of confidence, don’t you?” 

“Dumbledore has been known to make mistakes,” Snape said coldly. “The man is too trusting.”

“He trusts you,” I said. “And if that’s good enough for me, I should think it would be good enough for you.” 

Snape’s sallow cheeks burned scarlet for a moment before his nasty smile returned. I turned back to my table setting, where the delicious food from the Hogwarts kitchens had now materialized. Considering the discussion over, I scooped up a pork chop. 

“Come with me, Lupin,” Snape snapped. “We’ve got to discuss the arrangements made to accommodate for your  _ condition _ .”

“Surely that can wait, Severus?” I asked, aghast. I had just arrived and the next full moon wasn’t for another three weeks. 

“You may have as little regard for the safety of the students as your dear friends once did,” Snape spat back at me. His eyes glittered maliciously at the look on my face as he said it. “But I have the unhappy yet necessary charge of ensuring the student body’s wellbeing at all times, and Dumbledore has informed me that includes assisting you with your  _ problem _ . I assure you I do not relish in the task. Come.  _ Now. _ ”

I did not like the tone of his voice, as though I were some cur he was calling to heel, but I thought it best to get the odious conversation over with. I pulled as much food onto my plate as I could muster, then excused myself from the table, and followed Snape into the hall and down the staircase towards the dungeons. At last we came to the office that had once belonged to Professor Slughorn, although, unlike in the days of Slughorn, Snape had banished all creature comforts from the room. Instead of soft poufs, photographs, and boxes of chocolate surrounding the desk, there were pickled creatures suspended in foul looking liquids in jars all along the walls. At the sight of Snape’s collection of rare and horrible potion ingredients, I found I had lost my appetite for the moment. I put my plate down on the edge of Snape’s desk as Snape shut the door behind us and waved a silencing charm over the threshold so we could speak in private. 

“Now,” said Snape, sitting down and unable to conceal his glee that he had in some way, power over me in my predicament. “The Wolfsbane potion, as you are no doubt aware, is a very complicated potion. The slightest aberration in the ingredients can make things go rather horribly awry.” 

“In that case, I am very grateful to you for brewing it and not me,” I said. “I’m hopeless at potions, as you may recall.” 

“We can skip the pleasantries, I think,” snarled Snape before launching on. “You will take the potion when I say so, and you will drink all of it. Professor Sinistra will help to monitor the moon’s cycle in this endeavor. The night before the full moon, the night of the moon, and the night following, you will take the potion and be locked in your office. Wolfsbane is said to reduce the werewolf’s proclivity for violence, but the wolf remains a threat nonetheless, and a bite could still infect the innocent.” 

I could feel my jaw tensing as Snape went on. I had to stay silent, no matter what Snape said, I tried to remind myself. Better to let him have his stupid rant than lose my temper and my job. 

“Secondly,” he continued, seeming to grow more pleased with himself the more uncomfortable I became. “A substitute will be designated to teach your classes in your absence, should the occasion fall during the course of the academic week.”

“That makes sense,” I said. Snape’s eyes still flickered with laughter, as those there were some kind of angle to the situation that I had failed to find as amusing as he did.

“And lastly,” said the potions master. “Though this was not an order from Dumbledore, I want you to know that I have taken it upon myself to tail you at every turn, Lupin. I do not trust you. I have no doubt that at the earliest opportunity, as soon as our kindly headmaster is looking the other way, that you will help Sirius Black infiltrate this castle.” He then cleared the contents of my plate from his desk with a lazy wave of his wand

I raised my eyebrows at him. Now I was pissed. I had very much wanted to eat that pork chop.

“And why would I do that, Severus?” I asked softly.

“Because,” said Snape, now openly grinning. “Old flames die hard.” 

I stood up. 

“As usual, Severus, you’ll be wasting your time following me around the castle,” I said as I turned to go. “When you could be doing something productive.”  _ Like washing your hair _ , James would have added.

“Oh and Lupin,” Snape said casually. “If I see you take one step out of line, your secret will be out in the open.”

_ Ah, but which one, I wonder? _ I thought to myself as I walked down the corridor, hoping that regardless, it was an empty threat. 


	4. Weeping Willow

Snape’s words echoed along the corridor behind me, mingling with my footsteps.  _ I do not trust you _ . 

If only he could understand how little I trusted myself. How could you trust a person who transformed into a monster each month? 

But there was another nagging concern tugging at the hems of my patched robes as I aimlessly roamed through the castle. Thus far I had ignored it, pushed it out of my mind, but a part of me wondered if Severus Snape had the right of it, because for nearly two decades, I had kept a few other secrets to myself, even from Dumbledore. Not only was I a werewolf, which of course none of my students knew, and not only had I been schoolmates with now notorious mass murderer at-large Sirius Black, but I knew a secret about him. Something no one else alive was privy to. 

Sirius Black was an Animagus, and I hadn’t told a soul in twenty years.

_ Why? _ I asked myself as I rounded a corner of the castle, not knowing where it led—and not caring—just hoping to outrun the answers—small and squirming where they hid tucked away inside of me. They had been gnawing away at me ever since Dumbledore offered me the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. 

Hubris, that in our fifth year my best friends had been bold enough to undertake the complicated process of becoming Animagi; a difficult and subtle spell that could have gone horribly awry at any number of stages, and the result of which emboldened me—a werewolf—to treat my monthly transformations more like a carefree holiday than purgatory. 

Shame, that I had not told Dumbledore. Not as a student, not as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, nor when Sirius was arrested for murdering thirteen people twelve years ago. Not even now that Sirius had inconceivably sprung free from Azkaban and eluded capture for weeks. The Ministry, as far as I knew, was none the wiser.

There was guilt that we had been so cavalier, putting the entire school and the village of Hogsmeade at risk for what, my comfort? Once again, I was the source of all the trouble, but another deeper level, I knew I had enjoyed it. Not the rule breaking (and lawbreaking) that went along with it, but knowing that my friends had undergone this ordeal. Just for me. So that I, Remus Lupin, could be a little less miserable in the world. 

Over the years I had made plenty of excuses. No one got hurt during our moonlit time spent roaming the grounds at Hogwarts. Sirius’ alter ego had its uses when it came to Order business, and since only James, Peter, and I knew what he was capable of, neither did the Death Eaters, and the less knowledge they had about our movements the better. And as for Azkaban, once he was locked away in there I had assumed there was no coming out. I had even heard that most people lost their powers if they were imprisoned there for any real length of time. With dementors all around, how could being able to transform into a dog at-will really help, if he even still could? 

But even now I wondered if there were other reasons. The mercurial sparkle of a grey eye. That defiant grin capable of cutting through me like a knife.  _ I love you, Remus _ whispered warm and close in the middle of the night. 

I would like to think that I am above all that sentimental nonsense, but to be honest, I’m not so sure. 

I looked up. My feet had led me to the entrance hall, and suddenly I knew where I wanted to go. Creaking through the old wooden door, I took a step out into the night and walked to the Whomping Willow.

*

_ The grey light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the boarded up windows of the Shrieking Shack. I groaned as I struggled to sit up, my fifteen year old body bruised and battered and stiff from falling asleep on the scuffed and splintered floorboards. I had survived another full moon. One more down, and an endless, unpleasant stretch of them ahead of me as far as fate could see.  _

I examined my cuts and purpling spots in a cracked mirror dangling crookedly from the wall, assessing the damage. A particularly ugly scrape had appeared just beneath my unremarkable light brown hair. That would need attention from Madame Pomphrey back at the castle. Gingerly, I sighed and pulled my clothes on over the fresh injuries. I turned to make my way down the trapdoor, but paused as my fingers brushed the handle.

A funny scent tickled my nostrils. Something sour and burnt, like the potions classroom after someone’s assignment had gone wrong.  _ Snape?  _ Had he been here last night? A picture of him being dragged back down the tunnel by James flickered in my mind, but it couldn’t have been true. Sometimes the moon did that to me; tangled up my memories with smells and scents and when I returned to my human form, it was difficult to weed out reality from my perception of the world as a wolf. 

I made my way down the dank earthen tunnel until I reached the Willow, then pressed the knot and went on up to the castle. I noticed on my way that there were some strange, muddled tracks in the January snow to and from the Willow, mingled with mine and Madame Pomphrey’s from the night before. I frowned, wondering what it meant as I turned my back on the sun creeping over the mountains and pulled the iron ring of the front door of the castle open. 

Dumbledore was sitting in the entrance hall, his fingers clasped together and his brow furrowed as if in deep thought. Beside him sat James with deep circles under his eyes. My heart sank. It was true—something had gone wrong last night. But what, and how?

“Good morning, Remus,” said Dumbledore. His voice was pleasant, but he sounded weary, as if he had been up all night as well. James flashed me a worried look, but then glanced away, his cheeks reddening. 

“There, James,” said Dumbledore, turning to my friend. “As you can see, Mr. Lupin is quite alright. Now, if you wouldn’t mind running off to bed or breakfast, I’d like to speak with Remus alone.”

James nodded dully and got up from the bench. 

“See you later, Moony,” he murmured softly as he passed. Something about this felt very ominous and formal, as if I had misbehaved. The sinking feeling in my chest fell a bit further as I watched James’ messy black hair go up the marble staircase towards Gryffindor tower, his head hanging. 

“Do you need to see Madame Pomphrey straight away, Remus? Or would you be willing to postpone your treatments for a few minutes in lieu of a hot chocolate in my office?” Dumbledore asked gently. I gulped, and bobbed my head in agreement, feeling as though there were really little choice in the matter. 

“Am I in trouble, sir?” I asked as we ascended the spiral staircase to the Headmaster’s chambers. 

“Certainly not, my dear boy.” He sounded kind, and as if he expected me to ask such a question. Swirling into his seat behind the ornate desk covered in bits of parchment and books and strange objects I didn’t recognize, he once again put his hands together. I squirmed in the cushioned chair opposite him, staring down at my feet as I felt his bright blue eyes searching me. It wasn’t only his gaze that was upon me, but all the portraits lining the walls of the office were peering down at us. 

“Something happened last night, didn’t it Professor.” I didn’t phrase it as a question, because I knew it was true. 

“You are as usual, quite correct, Remus,” said Dumbledore. “And yes, I am afraid so. It seems that another student has been made aware of your circumstances.” 

Fear bolted down my veins. If it was Severus Snape, as I suspected, then surely my time at Hogwarts was over. That sneering mouth of his had no doubt told the whole school already, and I would be sent home this very day on the Hogwarts Express. How could I have been so optimistic and naive to think that I would be able to have an education, like any other witch or wizard, given what I was? It was a joke, really, like one of Sirius and James’ pranks gone horribly wrong. And I had been thick enough to fall for it.

“I always told you this was a bad idea, Albus,” said one of the old headmasters painted in oils on the wall. The script beneath the portrait read  _ Phineas Nigellus Black.  _ I thought bleakly of Sirius, then of James and Peter. Would I ever get to see them again? “I mean really, a werewolf at Hogwarts? And to think that my great-great grandson has been seen fraternizing with such a creature. I’ve never seen such a disgrace to the family and House of Black.” 

“That’s quite enough. Thank you, Phineas,” said Dumbledore loudly. 

“If it were me,” the former headmaster went on, as if Dumbledore had not spoken. “I would report him to the ministry at once and be done with it. Let them manage or exterminate the half-breed creature.” 

“That will  _ do _ ,” said Dumbledore, more loudly this time, With a flick of his wand a heavy velvet curtain materialized and drew itself over the painting, muffling whatever else it was that Phineas Nigellus Black was trying to express. “My apologies, Remus. As I was saying, a student did see you last night.”

“It was Snape, wasn’t it Professor?” I asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Yes, your memory serves you well,” Dumbledore said. “Your friend James however, discovered that Severus was going to sneak out to the Shack, and managed to prevent him from entering the building. But I fear Severus did catch a glimpse of you nonetheless, and now knows the truth.” 

I crumpled down in my chair and ran my hands over my face, then winced as I touched the forgotten cut from the night before on my scalp. I sighed and stood up from my chair. This was it. 

“I’ll go and pack my things straightaway, Professor. I don’t need to see Madame Pomphrey—it’s not that bad—I’ll just try and leave before everyone else is awake so I don’t cause any more trouble.” I was walking towards the door when I heard the Headmaster’s voice again. 

“Wait a moment, Remus.” 

I turned around, but was unable to look him in the eye. This man who had risked so much for me to be here—I could only imagine his disappointment.

“I have not asked you to leave, Remus. Please sit down.” I glanced up to see him gesturing back to the purple armchair in front of his desk. “You will not be leaving Hogwarts, and I am not upset, I assure you.” 

He must have known that was what I needed to hear. I went back to my seat.

“Sir, what do you mean?” 

“Exactly what I have said. You are not being asked to leave Hogwarts. Besides the fact that you have done absolutely nothing wrong, I could hardly spare our best prefect.” I looked up and saw his blue eyes twinkling behind the half-moon spectacles. “I have spoken with Severus Snape, who James Potter brought to my office immediately after the incident, and though Mr. Snape has expressed his severe reservations on the subject, he has given me his word that he will not share the information with anyone. Your friend James of course, already was aware of the situation, but I hardly needed to give him the same warning.”

I was dumbfounded. I could  _ stay _ . Relief washed over me as the sunlight filled the office, glinting off of the gilt frames on the walls and fine instruments cluttering up the tower. It almost felt too good to be true. As I watched the beams bounce off of Dumbledore’s sleeping phoenix, something occurred to me. Something that didn’t add up.

“Professor, how did Snape find out? How did he know where to go?”

Dumbledore pursed his lips behind his whiskers and bounced to his feet in response.

“Forgive my manners, I recall that I offered you a hot chocolate earlier and have not made good on my word.”

Perplexed, I stared as Dumbledore bustled off into a different part of his quarters, humming what I thought was a tune from a Muggle musical called Mary Poppins. The song roused Fawkes, who blinked at me with a beady black eye before fluttering over to roost on the wing of the armchair where I sat. I lifted a finger up to stroke his soft crimson plumage and he winked a tear onto the cut on my forehead. A cooling sensation spread over my scalp as the skin mended and healed. Phoenixes. What wonderful and useful creatures.

“Here we are now,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, returning with two steaming mugs. I took the drink from him and sipped the hot chocolate. It was very good and warmed me up instantly. Between the cocoa and Fawkes, I was already feeling much better. 

“Now, what was your question again, Remus? I am afraid I am an old man, and it has been a very long night and I fail to remember what it was. Or perhaps you have forgotten as well in my absence?” asked Dumbledore. I looked up from my drink. Did I detect something hopeful and insincere in the Headmaster’s voice, as if he wished not to answer my question? This only made me more curious.

“Sir, I asked how Snape knew where to go. How did he work out how to get past the Whomping Willow? Someone must have told him.”

Dumbledore paused, taking a drink from his own mug, then mopped up the whipped cream in his moustache with the tip of his beard. 

“Remus, may I ask who at the school you have told about your condition?” I froze, and didn’t answer. “Once again, let me remind you that you will not be punished for what has happened, Remus. You may tell me, and it will not affect your enrollment at school,” he added.

I took another drink of my cocoa before responding.

“I didn’t tell anyone, sir,” I answered truthfully. “But my friends worked it out on their own. James, Peter, and Sirius.”

“Of course they did,” said Dumbledore. “They are extremely bright and care very much about their friends. If they had not figured it out on their own, I should have been quite surprised, and as an educator, rather disappointed, I might add. However.” He paused, setting down his mug. “I’m afraid that it was one of them who let it slip. Sirius had shall we say—a bit of a tiff with Severus earlier in the evening—and, well—it seems he—“

I found myself standing. Hot chocolate spilled from my mug and down my front. My sudden movement disrupted Fawkes, who indignantly flew off the chair and back to his perch. 

“Sirius wouldn’t do that. I don’t believe it.” 

“What was that?” shouted Phineas Nigellus from behind the curtain. “Did I hear something about my great-great grandson?”

“I’m afraid it is true, Remus,” said Dumbledore calmly, and cast a charm over the painting, muffling it further. “He told me so himself before James and Severus had even returned from the Shack.”

“I don’t believe it,” I repeated, but even as I said it the Headmaster’s words invited doubt to creep into my thoughts. Yes, erratic, emotional Sirius, who had been acting very strangely ever since the Christmas holidays. He just might have done. Disappointment swelled inside me. I would deal with Sirius when the time came. “Is he in trouble?”

“Oh yes, quite,” Dumbledore said. “But he is not going to be expelled either. I have given Mr. Black detention every Saturday for the rest of the year. I also considered removing him from the Gryffindor quidditch team, but Professor McGonagall sharply pointed out as his head of house that his absence would raise questions about the reason behind the disciplinary action, thus piquing the curiosity of other students. So he remains on the team.”

“And what about Severus?” I asked. Surely if this had come about, that nosy sod had something to do with it. 

“I am afraid Severus did something rather foolish, but there are no grounds for formal punishment. Although I dare say his chagrin at being in James Potter’s debt will haunt him forever. That alone seems to be punishment enough.”

Somehow that hardly seemed fair to me, but I didn’t spare much time for the thought, as another emotion now churned through me. Anger. How could Sirius have been so bloody stupid? No matter what a prat Snape was, Dumbledore was right. There was nothing that could provoke or excuse this. As the Headmaster encouraged me to go visit Madame Pomphrey, I left the office seething. 

If Sirius Black crossed my path, I was going to kill him. 

I skipped Madame Pomphrey’s this time, not caring that I was still the worse for wear. Fawkes’ tears had healed the worst of it, the most visible damage done, and right now it didn’t matter if other students saw me looking like I had gotten on a hippogriff’s bad side. I stormed up to Gryffindor Tower, scowling as a smattering of students began heading down for an early breakfast. I glared at them preemptively, searching for a head of dark hair and grey eyes, but they all quickly looked away and hurried past towards the Great Hall. No Sirius. Part of me never wanted to see Sirius again, and part of me wanted him to appear in front of me at any moment so I could hex the piss out of him. 

“Are you alright, Remus?” Lily Evans asked me as I came through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room. “You look dreadful.”

“Thanks, Evans,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “I’ll take that under consideration. You haven’t seen Sirius by any chance, have you?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Funny,” she said. “He asked me the same thing about a half an hour ago.”

“He was here?”

“Yes—he came in about 7:30, but then he left again as soon as I said I hadn’t seen you.” 

“Right,” I said stupidly. 

“Um,” she looked at me again, taking in my scrapes and torn clothing. “Do you want to go see Madame Pomphrey, Remus?”

“No,” I said. What I wanted was to fight someone, but not Lily Evans, my fellow prefect, and as far as I could tell, the only sane person in Gryffindor House. “I’ll just go upstairs and change for breakfast, then.”

I left her standing by the portrait hole looking very confused. 

James was the only one in the dormitory when I entered. He looked as though he had been waiting for me.

“Where’s Sirius?” I asked before he could even open his mouth. 

“Remus, are you okay?” James asked, avoiding my question. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” I snapped, ripping back the curtains to Sirius’ bed like I was a Muggle magician performing a shoddy trick. Sirius wasn’t there. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Sorry, Moony, I was just worried—“

“Of course you were. Any rational person would be who had to share a bedroom with a werewolf. Now, where the fuck is Sirius?”

“I don’t know, mate!” said James. “He left a while ago, but he didn’t say where he was going. I told him he needs to talk to you though. To set things right.”

I snorted, tearing off my shirt and pulling a fresh one out of my trunk. 

“Yeah, ‘set things right,’” I muttered, tugging the shirt down before I realized that it was actually one of Sirius’. It was black and read ‘Queen’ on the front in large letters. “I hope the heir to the most noble and honorable House of Black realizes just how royally he’s fucked up this time.”

“I think he does, Remus,” said James, sounding tired and rubbing his eyes. 

So Sirius was upset.  _ Good _ . As well he bloody well should be. I grabbed my school bag and headed for the door. 

“Where are you going?” James asked from his four poster bed. 

“To breakfast, and then to study,” I said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I missed some school recently because I was ill and I have a lot of work to catch up on.” 

“Remus, I’m on your side here,” said James. I sighed, now feeling guilty for taking all of this out on him, when in fact, he had been the one trying to help. 

“Sorry, James. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know. But don’t kill him completely, Moony,” said James. “We need him alive for the quidditch or we’ll lose the Cup for sure.” 

Quidditch! Was that all these idiots cared about? I wondered as I left the dormitory.

The Great Hall was buzzing with breakfast and noisy enough that no one noticed anything off about me as I entered the room. Peter sat alone on a bench, his nose pressed up against a rememberall that had just bloomed scarlet in his hands. He shook his head and returned to his eggs. 

“Morning, Peter,” I said as I set my bag on the bench and sat down opposite him. He looked at me and jumped.

“Remus!” he squeaked. “You’re alright, then? Dumbledore wasn’t mad?”

“Not with me,” I muttered, surveying the dishes before me. Eggs, rashers, toast, jam and butter, coffee and juice. I realized as soon as I saw it all that I didn’t feel like eating. I reached for a piece of toast but it was mostly for show. Peter stared at me with his round blue eyes. 

“Sirius feels really badly about what happened,” he said. 

“Does he? Wonderful. I’m so glad to hear it,” I said as I began to tear my piece of toast up into bits. Privately, I relished the news. If Sirius was acting out of sorts enough for even Peter to notice, then perhaps he truly was repentant. I couldn’t help asking, someone selfishly, “How do you know?” 

Peter shrugged.

“You know how he gets. Not like when he’s just being dramatic about something stupid. He’s being all quiet, like he does when something’s actually wrong.”

I blinked at Peter, impressed by his extremely accurate and perceptive description of Sirius. That was the thing about Peter. He might have seemed like a real dolt most of the time, but he was actually quite smart.

“What did you forget, by the way?” I asked, nodding at the rememberall. 

“I have no idea,” Peter said, shaking his head, and I laughed for the first time in what felt like a week. “Probably something over the holidays, but it’s not important or my mum would have written a note. Also, look who it is.” Peter gestured in the direction of the entrance hall.

Snape had just walked in. He looked over at the Gryffindor table as he took a seat with the other Slytherins and noticed me staring. I did my best to keep my face as blank as possible. At first, Snape looked startled, maybe even a little afraid, but then after a moment, smiled slowly and unpleasantly at me. So that was how he wanted to play. He was going to be a little prick about it. Shocking. With a jolt, I realized that Regulus Black was just a few seats down from Snape, also sitting alone and also staring at me. I went back to shredding my poor, undeserving piece of bread. 

“Isn’t that Sirius’ shirt?” Peter asked me. I looked down. I was still wearing the stupid Queen shirt under my cardigan. 

Bollocks!

Sirius eluded me all day, but my temper still hadn’t cooled by evening. Now, in addition to being angry, I felt betrayed, and if anything that was even worse. James and Peter hovered around me, exchanging anxious glances all afternoon until I finally shook them off at dinner, slipping out of the Great Hall, saying that I needed to get back to my homework. 

Where  _ was _ Sirius? 

Another feeling was beginning to emerge, one that was beginning to dampen the others. Worry. This only annoyed me further. Why should I worry about Sirius when he had been so careless with me, with my secret? And why did it have to be Snape, of all the odious people in the castle, who found out? 

Then it occurred to me—I had been searching for Sirius all day inside Hogwarts—but what if he was not within the castle walls? If he had really wanted to avoid me, there was only one place he could be certain that I would not go if I had a choice—back to the Shrieking Shack. I stuck my hands down into the pockets of my cardigan and headed for the entrance hall. 

His scent had lingered on me throughout the day from the t-shirt (which was  _ not _ clean, as it turned out) now grew stronger as I crouched along through the tunnel towards Hogsmeade. Leather and cigarettes tickled at my senses, confirming my suspicions the closer I got to the Shack. Something sweet and hot was mingled with the rest. Firewhiskey, if I wasn’t mistaken. At last I reached the end of the tunnel and lifted up the trapdoor.

Sirius was slumped against the out-of-tune piano crumbling in a corner of the Shack, a bottle beside him on the moldy velvet bench. His fingers idly played upon the keys, tinkling out a lonely, minor rhythm in the broken room. 

All at once, the fight went out of me, or at least the urge to tear him to shreds became more subdued when confronted with the reality of Sirius looking so utterly defeated. He half turned to see me and then shrank even smaller into his shoulders, holding his head in his hands. 

“I’m so sorry, Remus,” he said, shaking. “I’m sorry. I am the most worthless piece of shit—“

“Sirius—“ 

“—I never meant to—“

“Sirius—“

“You must hate me—“

“Sirius  _ stop. _ ” I crouched down and grabbed his hands, pulling them away from his face. If I looked terrible, he looked worse. He had been crying. His eyes were empty and red, and great shadows swept underneath them. Sirius finally looked up at me, frightened. I lifted up my hand and for a moment he looked like he thought I would hit him, but instead I wiped snot out from under his nose. He snuffled. 

“I don’t hate you,” I said, realizing that despite everything, it was true. 

“I thought you would never want to see me again.”

I stood up and sat beside him on the bench. I moved the bottle of firewhiskey to the floor. It was quite nearly empty.

“I don’t hate you, and clearly I wanted to see you again or I wouldn’t have come all the way out here looking for you. I am upset. But mostly because I don’t understand how it could have happened.” 

Sirius went back to holding his head in his hands, his slim fingers winding their way through his black hair. It really was infuriating how even in a state of complete and irrefutable disaster, Sirius Black was still gorgeous. Not that he needed to know that I was thinking that unhelpful and very private thought at the moment. At last he mumbled,

“I only wanted him to get the living shit kicked out of him by the Willow. I never thought Snape would make it past, if he even tried.” 

Not good enough. There had to be more to the story than that. 

“But why did you want to Snape to get the shit kicked out of him?” I asked. “I mean, besides all the obvious, usual reasons.”

Sirius smiled ruefully, with a ghost of his bark-like laugh. 

“You really want to know?” he asked me in reply. I nodded. He rolled up his sleeve.

*

I watched as the old Willow tree creaked and swayed in the last of the September storm, guarding the entrance to the secret passage way towards the Shrieking Shack. I didn’t know how long I had been there. Long enough for the rain to weep itself dry. I stood up stiffly, wishing I could bounce back from a full moon as quickly as I did at fifteen. As quickly as I had forgiven Sirius for the unforgivable thing he had done. If he hadn’t been so foolhardy that night, I wouldn’t be asking myself whether or not I should tell Dumbledore or the Minister of Magic about the three unregistered animagi who were my friends at Hogwarts, and the one who turned out to be a murderer.

The skies were veiled behind the heavy curtain of clouds. No constellations could be seen above, but perhaps that was for the best.  _ Stars hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires _ . 

And what desires they were. To go back, to change everything. To have never met Sirius Black. I snorted. As if you could go back in time. 

And yet if I could, a part of me suspected I would have done it all over again.


	5. Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Term resumes at Hogwarts and, as always, the first day is full of surprises.

_Dear Fellow Staff Members,_

_There is a boggart in this wardrobe. I would like to use it for my third year students this week. Please do not remove it—I will take care of it after our Thursday lessons._

_Thank you,_

_Professor R. J. Lupin_

I tucked the note into the door of the wardrobe in the staff room Monday morning, after being surprised by the boggart as I went to look for more parchment before my first classes. I locked the wardrobe shut after driving it back inside among the musty robes, and for good measure, I applied a sticking charm to the note in case the boggart shook it loose.

“Going shopping, Lupin?” 

Snape loomed in the doorway, his black robes billowing about him dramatically as he surveyed the room. “I would have thought that even those old rags would be too moth eaten for you to wear, though I can see how you might be interested in acquiring some new clothes.” 

_Funny,_ I thought, _Coming from a man who hasn’t changed a thing about his appearance since he was thirteen._

“No Professor Snape—I was just looking for some spare parchment when I discovered that there was a boggart in there. Quite of stroke of luck, actually—I am hoping to use it for my classes later this week. I’ve just left a note asking the other teachers not to disturb it until Thursday. Would you care to join me for a cup of tea?”

I waved my wand at the kettle on the table and it began to whistle. Snape stared at me suspiciously as if I had set some sort of trap for him.

“I think not, Lupin. Though I must admit, I am rather curious as to what a werewolf’s boggart would become,” he said with a sneer. “Could it be a silver bullet, or a dog catcher, perhaps?” 

“I’ll take that as a _no,_ then, Severus,” I said calmly “Pity, we could have had a nice cup of tea together, as two old schoolmates, and caught up.” 

Snape’s nostrils flared at my reply.

“On second thought, I have another guess,” he hissed at me. “Perhaps the boggart turns into your dear Sirius Black, after he’s been captured by the Ministry, and is once again in the care of the dementors of Azkaban. Now _there’s_ a thought that truly rends my heart in two.”

He turned on his heel and left the room. I waved at the kettle again and it stopped squealing. 

As I poured myself a cup of tea, I snorted to myself at Severus’ first two guesses. Silver bullets and dog catchers—what nonsense. No, the thing that dreaded the most in the world was the full moon. That was it. Simple and so obvious that Snape had done too many mental cartwheels to guess at it and completely missed the point, as usual. 

I had gone back to my old humorous standby to coax the boggart back into the wardrobe. For some reason, I always liked the idea of turning the full moon into a cockroach, or some other insignificant insect that I could squash or control when performing the _Riddikulus_ spell. The moon, celestial, impassive and cold, would always be beyond my control, but a bug was something small and meaningless I could squish. 

A smile teased at the corner of my mouth as I sipped my tea. Of course, it didn’t hurt that there was an infestation of roaches in my first flat; some were so large they could nearly carry me off, and Sirius started giving them nicknames at one point. He referred to a particularly foul one as _Snivellus_ , named after dear Severus Snape himself.

_“Look Remus—this one’s so greasy it looks a bit like Snape, don’t you think? I wonder what old Snivellus has been up to. Probably snooping around the place, trying to spy on us, and eating dung.”_

Sirius named the biggest cockroach Walburga after his mother. 

Then Snape’s third guess at the boggart’s form came back to me. Sirius, caught again, in captivity back in Azkaban. _Was_ that something I was afraid of? 

It was always difficult for me to imagine Sirius locked up. He was always so boisterous and energetic, tearing around London on that motorbike of his and despising being told what to do. What had Azkaban done to him, I wondered. Was there a bit of that free spirited boy still in there, within the shell of the prisoner? He must have been happy to have escaped, that he was free in the world again. That I was certain of. The real question was, I supposed, was I? 

_Of course not_ , I snapped to myself. _Be sensible, Remus_. That kind of thinking was exactly what Severus expected from me. Sirius was responsible for the deaths of my three best friends and the reason that Harry Potter had no parents. But did that mean he deserved a lifetime of confinement with only the dementors for company? Did anyone deserve such a fate? My own brief brushes with them on the Hogwarts Express and at the gates of the castle had been dreadful enough—I could hardly comprehend being surrounded by them at all times. I wondered what Sirius remembered when they were near. I thought I could guess at a few of the bad memories, but who could say. I thought I had understood him years ago, but it turned out I had barely known him at all.

I cleaned up the tea things and made my way off to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with a few rolls of parchment under my arm, trying to push the thoughts of the boggart and Sirius Black from my mind. I had a lot of prep work to do. The one thing I wasn’t sure about with this new job was, well, the teaching bits. 

My employment history had been spotty at best and I had no teaching experience to speak of, as missing multiple days of work a month only to return looking rather battered usually did not endear someone to any sort of supervisor or educational institution. When the Ministry passed a law a few years ago that you had to disclose you were a werewolf during the hiring process, it got even worse. If you told your interviewer you were a werewolf during the interview, you wouldn’t get the job. If you kept quiet until the first full moon, you might be alright for a little while, but if anyone found out later, you’d be sacked. If you missed too much work, you would still be sacked. Just a whole lot of unemployment and sacking, and that’s all there was to it. Dumbledore’s offer to me had been the perfect solution—he of course already knew I was a werewolf and wasn’t about to fire me for it, and my work with the Order was reference enough for him. I knew the defensive content, but I had no idea if I would have a flair for teaching. 

Turns out that I _did_. And I liked it. 

What was clear to me on the very first day however was how inconsistent the education of the students had been. With a new teacher every year in recent history there were many gaps in their knowledge, yet the students were excited to learn and we got on surprisingly well. The Slytherin students were not the friendliest, but I suspected Snape would have primed them not to take me seriously, and did not hold it against them. 

Reviewing my rosters, I discovered I had a Weasley for nearly every day of the week. Molly and Arthur’s twins reminded me very much of James and Sirius in our years at Hogwarts; inseparable, incorrigible, and ingenious. Ginny was very good at defensive spells, too, and quite a natural for a second year. Percy was the odd duck out among them—he seemed to have a streak of ambition that he sought to overcompensate for his mediocre magic with.

Of course the class I was most looking forward to was Harry’s. Third year Gryffindors were on Thursday afternoons, so I would have to wait a few days to see him again. Neville Longbottom would be there too, whom I was also intrigued by, and the Weasly’s youngest son, Ron, as well as the girl Hermione from the train. But I was curious about teaching Harry—would he have taken after his parents’ talent? Fortunately McGonagall invited me to tea Monday afternoon, so I was able to ask her a few questions ahead of time. 

“He’s not bad,” she said, dipping her biscuit in her tea. “I can’t say that he’s much for transfiguration however, unlike James. Nor does he have Lily’s aptitude for potion making. Professor Snape is not overly fond of the boy, which doesn’t help matters.” 

I took a bite of my own biscuit, still trying to grasp how I had become Minerva McGonagall’s colleague and guest for tea. It still all felt rather improbable and too good to be true. 

“No, I’d have to say Potter mostly gets by on sheer nerve,” She sniffed. “Oh, and he’s _very_ good at Quidditch. That doesn’t hurt. He plays seeker, just like James.”

I smiled, thinking about how Sirius had insisted on buying Harry a broom for his first birthday. He bought the extravagant gift a month before, knowing we couldn’t see James and Lily the day of, because they were planning on going into hiding. That was before I suspected Sirius was their secret keeper. I set my tea down and looked up at Minerva, and then became very alarmed. She was crying.

“Oh, Remus,” she sniffed into a tartan handkerchief. “He reminds me so much of the two of them.” 

“It seems as though he gets bullied somewhat,” I said, looking away and trying to change the subject. In my mind, Minerva McGonagall was as indestructible as the stones of Hogwarts itself. Such a sentimental show of emotion was disquieting. “Lucius Malfoy’s son seems to go out of his way to make trouble for him.”

“The feeling is certainly mutual between the boys, rather like it was with James and Severus,” said McGonagall, recovering somewhat. “Not that I’m saying that Draco Malloy is the model student—far from it. I suppose you’ve heard about the incident with the hippogriff from this morning?” I raised my eyebrows. I had not.

“Well it seems Mr. Malfoy wasn’t paying much attention during Care of Magical Creatures, and was mauled by a hippogriff as a result.”

“Mauled by a hippogriff!?” 

“Yes, at least that’s the way he tells it to Poppy and anyone who will listen,” she said. “It wasn’t nearly as bad as the boy makes it out to be. He has rather a flair for drama, that one.”

“Is Hagrid alright?” I asked.

“Of course not, he’s in pieces!” McGonagall said. “But I ask you, hippogriffs on the first day? What did he expect! Dumbledore won’t give him the sack of course, but I have no doubt there will be consequences for the hippogriff.” 

That explained why Hagrid was not at dinner that evening. I made a note to myself to go down to see him when I had a chance. The thought of anything that might endanger his precious creatures was likely breaking the gamekeeper’s heart. I counted my blessings that my first day in the classroom had been less eventful.

“Apparently Potter did quite well in that lesson, though,” she added. “He and Hagrid are rather close. But that’s just how it goes—Potter seems to either be everyone’s favorite, or the whole school is against him. Nothing in between, poor thing. By the way, has Severus been giving you any trouble?” she asked me sharply.

There was a flicker of steel in her gaze as she waited to hear my response, which somehow gratified me. Knowing that Minerva McGonagall was on your team was a good feeling.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said with a small smile. 

“Good,” she said, bristling. “I wondered if he might be bothering you about—well, you know.” 

“I have the utmost respect for him as my colleague, and I don’t want to cause any trouble,” I said. I almost could have sworn she smiled at me. 

“I know, Remus,” she said through her square spectacles. “But trouble always seems to find you, doesn’t it?”

I nodded and raised my tea cup to her at that before taking my last sip. 

“Speaking of which,” she said, taking my now empty tea cup and saucer and putting them aside. To my great surprise, she drew open a drawer and produced a bottle of Ogdens. I was learning all sorts of interesting things about my old teacher this evening. “I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Please do,” I said, uncertain what to do with the tumbler she put in my hands. Were you supposed to drink with your professors, even if you were an adult? And what if that Professor was Minerva fucking McGonagall? I turned the glass of whiskey over. The sweet fragrance tickled my nose.

“I am asking this not because I harbor any doubts about you, Remus, but simply because you knew Sirius best. Should we be worried for the Potter boy?” McGonagall peered over at me.

Meeting her gaze, I realized that she and I had an understanding. I didn’t feel the need to explain, apologize, or articulate where I was coming from to her—and I felt overwhelmingly grateful for it. Somehow it was different than talking to Dumbledore in that way. Not having to worry about that, I could concentrate on giving her an honest answer. The truth. I nodded.

“Yes, I think so.” 

“That’s what I thought,” she said with a sigh. We both took a sip of our whiskey. The drink burned my throat and I squirmed, feeling light headed. 

“Does Harry know?” I asked. “About Sirius being his godfather?”

“Good heavens, no,” said McGonagall, her cheeks becoming rather rosy. “Potter has enough to worry about without that. Apparently Sybil has marked him for death this year. Seems to think the Grim has been following him around in his tea leaves or some such tripe.”

I gulped down a mouthful of whiskey. 

“The Grim?” 

Minerva nodded. 

“Yes, but what a load of rubbish. I highly doubt that a large black dog has been seen roaming the grounds, don’t you? Someone would have noticed,” she snorted. “Nonetheless, Potter does seem to always find himself in rather precarious situations. I suppose we should keep an extra eye on the boy.” 

I nodded fuzzily.

“Do you suppose it’s true that Black’s gone mad in Azkaban?” she asked me, hawk-like through her glasses. I laughed weakly and refilled my glass.

“Sirius was always a bit mad,” I said. “But he knows the castle. He managed to escape Azkaban. He is a very good wizard.” I mumbled the last bit into my glass, realizing that I was still leaving out the most important part. The part that Minerva didn’t know. 

*

Hagrid was a mess. He wouldn’t stop crying when I went down to see him later that night.

“Come on in, Remus,” he sniffled as I stepped over the threshold of his hut and past a large stack of crates by the door. There was the sound of something fleshy and wet wriggling around inside.

“What’s in the boxes, Hagrid?” 

“Flobberworms.” 

“Ah,” I said. “Something a little less risky than hippogriffs?” I sat down at the wooden bench in the nook of Hagrid’s kitchen. Hagrid made a thunderous noise as he blew his nose into his polka dotted handkerchief. 

“So yeh’ve heard the news.”

“Yes, is the Malfoy boy alright?”

“I s’pose,” he mumbled. Fang whined and walked over, laying a consoling head on Hagrid’s knee. A large dribble of dog drool oozed out of the boarhound’s mouth and onto Rubeus’ pant leg, but Hagrid didn’t seem to notice or mind. He scratched at Fang’s slobbering head and sniffled. “No, it’s Beaky that they’ve got it in for.”

“Beaky?”

“Buckbeak, the hippogriff,” he explained. He waved over to the window behind me. “He’s tied up behind me hut.” 

I looked out the window panes. Through the gloom I could just make out the silvery shape of a half-horse, half-eagle shaped creature slumped over on the ground of the pumpkin patch, strange and beautiful in the starlight.

“Ministry’ll do an inquiry, jus’ like Lucius Malfoy’s asked ‘em to,” said Hagrid. “I ‘spect they’ll have me sacked and Buckbeak—“ he burst into tears afresh.

“It’ll be alright, Hagrid,” I reassured him. “Dumbledore won’t sack you, I’m sure of it.” 

“‘S not Dumbledore I’m worried about, it’s the Ministry and their Committee fer Dang’rous Creatures,” he said. “You know how they are.”

I did, unfortunately. Werewolves walked a rather fine line in the Ministry’s eyes between “dangerous creatures” and wizards. 

“People like you ‘n me, Remus,” Hagrid went on thickly. I began to wonder if he’d been drinking, too, and if I was beginning to notice a trend among the staff. “They don’ understan’. They don’ see the diff’rence between you, me, and Beaky. They think we’re all dangerous, and that we don’ deserve ter exist in the firs’ place.”

I supposed that might’ve been true, at least to some. 

“What they don’ understan’ is that anyone can be dang’rous. Yer dang’rous. I’m dang’rous. They’ve got it in fer us, but it’s the ones you don’t ‘spect to be dang’rous that you got ter look out fer. Take Sirius Black, fer instance. Purest blood yeh can get. He’s no ‘creature’ but look what ‘e went and did.” Hagrid burst into tears anew.

My walk back to my quarters in the castle was a sobering one, my thoughts and my secrets weighing heavily on me. Hagrid’s statement had been closer to the mark than he guessed about Sirius Black and dangerous creatures. And Minerva, wondering about how much trouble Sirius could really be if he wanted to. How could I be so sure that Sirius’ animagus form and knowledge of the castle wasn’t cause for concern? Should I tell Dumbledore all that I knew? Was I truly as bad as Snape thought? I might not be actively helping Sirius into the castle, but was my willful neglect of the facts just as damning? If only I could find that map, then I could know for certain whether or not Sirius was able to sneak by the Azkaban guards on the borders of the grounds. 

He’d slipped past them once before—who was to say it couldn’t happen again?


	6. A Practical Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which news of Sirius Black reaches Hogwarts and the third year Gryffindors tackle the boggart in the wardrobe.

_ Sirius pulled up his sleeve. Beneath his jacket, his arm was wound in a cotton bandage. Slowly he peeled the layers of fabric back, reddening the more he pulled away. Finally, turned his wrist towards me. The words BLOOD TRAITOR were scrawled in his flesh, as if a knife had bitten deeply in his skin to write some kind of cruel tattoo. The air throbbed with the smell of iron at the sight of it.  _

“Did Severus do this to you?” I asked. If so, then I wished Snape  _ had _ made it through the trapdoor last night, that James hadn’t pulled him away just in time. I wanted to kill whoever did this to Sirius. I reached out to touch Sirius’ hand, and my fingers trailed gently up the length of his arm, away from the wound where the words were still sore and red. They looked fresh. Sirius shook his head, wincing. 

“No, it wasn’t Snape.” 

That could only mean one thing.

“But Sirius, you haven’t been home for weeks.” 

I was horrified, but not wholly surprised. It was hardly the first time Sirius had come back from Grimmauld Place with an injury, but they were nothing like this in the past. This was different. 

“It was a special quill—it won’t heal,” he said in a hollow sort of voice. “It didn’t have ink in it—I think it was some kind of venom. Probably from some beloved family pet snake I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting.” 

“Did  _ she _ write this?” 

Sirius paused, biting his lip. He wriggled out of my grasp and clumsily re-rolled the bandage before pulling the sleeve of his jacket back down over the cuts.

“Not exactly,” he mumbled. 

“Who then? Orion?” I asked. “Not Regulus—“

“Oh no, they made Regulus watch,” he spat. “Then they used the Imperius curse. On me.”

“They made you do this to yourself?” I asked, aghast, and wondering if I had ever hated someone more than Sirius’ parents. They even beat out Fenrir Greyback, which was saying something. There was a part of me that wanted to believe Greyback couldn’t help it, but I couldn’t say the same about Walburga and Orion. 

“Yeah.” Sirius seemed to gather strength from saying it out loud. His grey eyes grew hard and distant, but his voice didn’t shake as he went on. “So I left. Went to James’ house. Which, you know, was definitely preferable but—” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He shrugged, shrinking into a slouch again avoiding the question. I didn’t press the issue, nor did I ask what had spurred his parents to do this. Not that it mattered. People like them didn’t need a reason to be angry or cruel. 

“What about Peter?”

“Peter doesn’t know,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face. “Just James.”

Sirius leaned into me, exhausted, his leather jacket creaking, his scent strong and sweet. I froze—wanting to touch him, to hold him, to—to something,  _ anything _ —to fix this but knowing I couldn’t. Nothing that could make a difference, anyway, not really. He shifted his weight and sat up and the moment passed.

“Then,” he said. “I got this letter yesterday.” He fished out a crumpled piece of parchment from a pocket within the lining of his jacket and held it out to me. The Black family crest shone in a dark wax seal sitting in a corner of the torn paper, silver ribbon tangled with the writing at the bottom. Not sure that I wanted to read whatever horrible words were scrawled across the vellum, I took it from him, and uncurled the shred of the letter. I figured it couldn’t possibly be worse than what was carved into his arm.

_ —you are a disgrace to our family name, and therefore unfit to retain and defile it. You are hereby no longer the heir to the House of Black, and shall receive no inheritance, titles, property, or wealth upon our death, as you are henceforth no longer a member of our lineage— _

Beneath a long and tedious recitation of wizarding heraldry was the family crest and the signatures of Orion and Walburga Black. I wondered where the rest of the letter was and what it had said.

“Anyway,” Sirius went on. “Obviously Regulus knew what was going on. And he told Snape, I suppose, and Snape decided to rub it in when I was in Owlery. And I just—I just snapped, Moony. I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it, but he was already gone.  _ I’m so sorry _ .” 

Of course, stupid, selfish Severus—already half a Death Eater and wishing for a pureblood claim of his own to boast of in the Slytherin common room—probably thought that Sirius had the perfect home and couldn’t possibly comprehend why anyone would have left. How could you manage to throw something as prestigious as the House of Black away, when it was all Snape had ever wanted? I knew perfectly well that a wounded animal was more dangerous than a healthy one, but apparently Severus didn’t realize just how deep this particular wound went for Sirius when he goaded him the day before. The cut in Sirius’ arm swam before my eyes again. I felt like I was going to be sick at just the memory of it.

“We’ve got to get you to Madame Pomphrey, she’ll be able to take care of it,” I said, standing shakily to my feet. Sirius laughed mirthlessly at the suggestion. “Or at least let me put something on it back in the dormitory—I’ve got some Murtlap essence left over from last month—“ 

“I don’t want it to go  _ away _ , Moony,” he said. “The joke’s on them this time because they weren’t wrong. If being a Black means that I need to be a pureblood fanatic and—“

His voice broke off and he shuddered.

“And what?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just—I don’t want to have anything to do with them. I’m better off alone.” 

“But Sirius, they’re your family.”

_ He looked up at me. I froze on the creaking floorboards of the Shrieking Shack. Staring into his eyes felt like jumping into the cold sea at night. And suddenly I didn’t want to leave the shack. I thought I could spend the rest of my life in this miserable room, in this drafty, decrepit building, as long as Sirius would keep looking at me like that.  _

_ “They aren’t my family.” _

_ Something got quite squirmy and hot in my chest as he said it. Then Sirius glanced away, down at my lips for the briefest of scorching seconds before looking up at me again. I reached out my hand to him and helped him get up unsteadily from the bench. _

_ “Let’s go home, Sirius.” _

_ * _

Those same eyes bored into me from the front page of the newspaper an owl had just dropped in my lap at breakfast. His eyes still burned, but instead of the warmth that was there before, something pale and cold flickered within Sirius’ hollow stare. He looked emaciated and hungry for something more than just food. Blasted across the page above the photograph in a bold typeface were the words  _ SIRIUS BLACK SIGHTED! _

I read the location and spilled my coffee. 

_ Not far from here. _

More owls swooped in and out of the windows to the Great Hall, dropping copies of  _ The Daily Prophet _ along the tables. A hissing whisper grew louder among the students as more gathered, unfurled the papers, read the news, then turned to their neighbors to discuss. Up and down the hall the same photograph stared back at me as more pairs of hands opened more copies of the paper.

Looking down the staff table, I saw the information registering on the faces of my fellow teachers. Professor Sprout was reading the headline and as she continued to pour cream into her tea, despite the fact that her cup and saucer were overflowing.

“Only a few hours away from Hogsmeade by broomstick,” murmured Professor Vector to Professor Flitwick. “And that’s no distance at all, if he can Apparate.” 

“He may have some kind of tracking jinx on him—“ said Flitwick reassuringly, though he himself looked quite pale as he said it. “That would tip the dementors right off.”

“—they think he’s just a Muggle criminal with a gun,” Professor Burbage explained to Professor Sinistra. “That’s why they called the police and not the Ministry, and of course that gave him enough time to get away.”

Professor Sinistra shook her head.

“I don’t like to think what the odds are of a Muggle capturing Sirius Black, wand or no. They'd be likely to end up dead, if you ask me."

Minerva said nothing, but set her paper down and looked over to me, her mouth set in a grim line and her eyes wide. My stomach flipped. At least Snape was nowhere to be seen. Thank Merlin for small mercies. 

I swallowed the rest of my scrambled eggs, stood up from the bench, picked up my briefcase, and made a hasty, sweaty exit from breakfast. I could feel the smudgy eyes printed in moving black ink following me all the way out of the Great Hall.

I was so distracted that I hardly could string together a coherent sentence during my lecture on counterjinxes to the fourth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that morning. I skipped lunch for an uneasy hour of pacing my office, wondering what on earth had become of the Marauders Map, as if an old piece of parchment could solve the predicament I was in, then nipped up to the staff room to check on my boggart before the afternoon period began.

“Good afternoon, Lupin,” said a cold voice from the corner as I walked into the staff room. Snape folded down the newspaper he was reading so that Sirius’ face glowered at me upside down. 

“Hello, Severus,” I said. I was in no mood to deal with him today.

“I suppose you’ve heard the news?” he asked, with what I supposed he thought was a smile. He turned over the paper in his hands, frowning at the image. “He has rather let himself go in Azkaban. Not quite as handsome as he was twelve years ago, don’t you agree?” 

Doing my best to ignore him, I walked over to the wardrobe. My note was still in place from earlier in the week. That at least was a good sign.

“All the same, I suppose it pleases you, Lupin, to know that dear Sirius is drawing near?” 

I could feel my cheeks growing hot, but didn’t turn around to face Snape. Instead I rapped my knuckles on the wardrobe’s varnished wood. It rattled and wobbled on its legs as the boggart fought to free itself from the moldering robes and tangled hangers within. 

“Perhaps he’ll get here just in time for the full moon and you two can have a midnight stroll, just like old times. How romantic. Maybe you’ll even get a chance to say hello to the dementors together, and you can spare a kiss for them as well.”

My fingers twitched, dancing around my wand in my pocket. It took all of my self control not to hex this odious man. 

“Ah, I forgot—of course. You’ll be locked away in your office that night, thanks to me, and the potion I am brewing for you. I do hope I get it right—it is my first attempt after all, and I should hate for something unfortunate to happen to yet another quality Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at Hogwarts. Dumbledore would be quite put out.”

I turned around, and though it no doubt cost me a great deal of patience and possibly a few more gray hairs, I said in my the most pleasant tone of voice I could muster,

“I’ll be going to collect my third years now, Professor Snape, and I hope that by the time I return with my students that you will have found some other academic pursuit worthy of applying your considerable talents to, rather than sitting here, sputtering rubbish.” 

“Oh no, Lupin, I think I’ll stay right where I am and enjoy the show,” he said, eyeing me as though I were a particularly interesting pickled specimen on the walls of his office. “I have what you might call an intellectual curiosity about the proceedings.”

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“I want to see if my theories are correct,” he sneered. “After our conversation on Monday, I am simply  _ dying _ to know what a werewolf’s boggart will become—“

I had heard enough. I didn’t really think that Severus would continue prattling on like this in front of a group of students, and there was clearly no use in trying to reason with him. How on earth had he kept the potions master job this long, if he was this rude to everyone else?  _ But he’s not this rude to everyone else, _ said a grim voice inside my head.  _ Just you. Because that’s what creatures like you deserve, and deep down, you know you’re no better than what he’s said.  _

Alright, I may have been having some rather squiggly thoughts about Sirius that morning, but they were just memories—old memories—and they didn’t mean that I wanted to see him again. It hardly meant that I wanted Sirius to break into the castle and hurt any one, let alone Harry Potter.

Fundamentally, I couldn’t understand why Severus was being such a shit. Of course I knew that he was prejudiced against werewolves, but that wasn’t so different from the rest of the wizarding population. Was it truly all because of a grudge he held against me and my friends since our days as students at Hogwarts? At least James, Peter, and Sirius, trouble though they may have been, weren’t joining the ranks of the Death Eaters at fifteen, unlike Snape. Yes, Sirius had gone out of his way to harass Snape at every turn when we were in school, but the same could be said for Severus. And James and Severus were even more like oil and water. I snorted and then laughed to myself, knowing exactly who was who in that scenario. 

“Ooooooh look who it is!” a jovial voice cackled above me. “Loony Lupin, talking to himself again, he is!” 

_ Peeves _ . Just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get more vexing.

He grinned at me then popped down from the torch bracket he had just been writhing on in a rather inappropriate way, then spat out an enormous ball of gum and began rolling it back and forth in his hands and making horrible squishing noises.

“Where’s your friends at, Lupin? They coming by to play some tricks any time soon?” 

I tried to ignore the aggravating little man, but he kept floating along beside me, bouncing his rubbery ball of gum up and down on the flagstones as he went, giggling to himself as he improvised a song, occasionally popping the filthy glob back into his mouth to chew on. He giggled and spluttered along, but didn’t follow me into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

Many of the students had already arrived, and I remembered with a smile that it was Harry’s class. For a moment, I took him for James—it really was an uncanny resemblance—until he looked up at me with Lily’s eyes as I set my briefcase down on the desk and the rest of the class settled in. Ms Granger hadn’t arrived yet, but I recalled what McGonagall had said to me at the beginning of term about how she might be a few minutes late. I smiled at the group as they carefully took out their books, quills, and parchment at their desks, wondering how they would react to the boggart they were about to encounter.

You could learn a great deal about a person by how they reacted to a boggart, and especially from a group of people. You would see who had something to really be afraid of, as opposed to those who had led a sheltered life and still thought stuff like ghosts and snakes were something to be frightened of. I wondered which this group class would be as I led them back up to the staff room.

*

  
  


Grading the papers on boggarts the following week, I had to say that the last thing I expected was for a student to say that what they feared most in the entire world was another teacher, but then again having observed Severus’ own appalling behavior towards the Longbottom boy and myself over the past week, I was beginning to appreciate Neville’s perspective. Although, considering that Neville’s parents had been tortured into madness by Voldemort’s followers, one had to wonder how truly evil Snape’s treatment of the boy must have been over the past three years to earn such a place of terror in the thirteen year old’s heart to supersede such other unhappy thoughts. 

My patience with the potions master was apparently running thin that afternoon as well, because the first thing that came to mind to make dour Professor Snape more amusing was to turn the boggart’s shapeshifting into a bit of a drag show. Neville successfully performed the spell (with a few pointed suggestions from yours truly) to raucous applause from his peers, and I started playing some records on an old gramaphone I had brought with me to the staff room for this particular lesson, anticipating that a little music might bring some levity to the practical unit. 

In no time the class was mastering  _ Riddikulus _ and putting the boggart through its paces. Ms Granger had turned up just in time to answer several questions correctly, and Harry had also given a very good response to one of my queries. As the students went down the line and tackled the boggart one by one, their confidence boosted after seeing Neville’s success, I realized a flaw in my lesson plan.

What would Harry’s boggart become?

Out of all the students present, he had faced true terrors. Would it become Lord Voldemort, for he had seen him with his own eyes as a child, or would the corpses of Lily and James appear on the floor of the classroom? How would the rest of the class react to either circumstance— _ and how would I? _

The boggart had just transformed into a giant spider for Ron Weasly, which he removed the legs of with the  _ Riddikulus  _ spell, and then lolled over to lie at Harry’s feet. Without a second thought, I jumped in front of Harry before the boy could so much as raise his wand.

Now the whole class had seen my own personal fear—the full moon—but whether or not it had registered or been recognized for what it was by the students before I changed it into a cockroach again, I wasn’t sure. It was too late now to do anything about it, at any rate. 

What was nibbling away at me instead was whether or not I had done the right thing in preventing Harry from taking on the boggart. I didn’t want to coddle the boy, but I knew I’d been lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I felt the need to be protective of him. After all, he had no guardian, no one to look after him or his interests while he was at school, and his legal godfather was currently on a murderous rampage through the countryside, in theory stewing on how to kill Harry at the earliest opportunity. 

The other thing I had some slight regrets about was my coaching to Neville on how to handle his boggart. One benefit of the boggart incident was that Snape hadn’t said a word to me since it happened, but he was livid at the news and apparently being even harder on the Longbottom boy than usual. For myself, I wasn’t afraid of Snape, though I wondered about the wisdom of my choices as the next full moon drew near. Not interacting with him beyond the occasional withering stare at the staff table was admittedly far preferable to him being completely obnoxious to me 24/7, but I did wonder what was at work in his mind, and whether or not something foul was fermenting along with the potion he was apparently concocting for me down in the dungeons.

Would Severus enact some sort of revenge through his preparation of the Wolfsbane potion, I wondered. My symptoms were coming on as the month lengthened. I could feel the familiar aches returning to my bones, my senses sharpening, and organs twisting towards the tidal shifts in the moon’s phases. Old injuries came back to haunt me, and I woke with an increasing stiffness as the calendar marched on towards September 30th.


	7. Remedies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus prepares for his first full moon at Hogwarts as a professor.

Professor Sinistra pointed down at the enchanted astrolabe sitting on Dumbledore’s desk. A perfect replica of the stars, moon, and Earth spun slowly into place, angling themselves as they would in a week’s time for my first full moon since returning to Hogwarts. It’s miniature twinkling lights illuminated the faces of Dumbledore, Madame Pomphrey, Professor Snape, and myself as we peered down at the upcoming alignment of the heavens. 

“You’re in luck, Remus,” said Professor Sinistra from beneath her pointed hat embroidered with constellations. “This month the moon won’t rise until just a few minutes before 8 o’clock at night on the thirtieth, and the moon will also be at its furthest distance away from the planet as it will be all year on a full moon. I’ve heard that can make the symptoms less severe, is that true?”

I nodded. If there was one necessary wizarding skill I had gleaned well before Hogwarts, it was astronomy. I had known this month would be a slightly lighter cycle, and was looking forward to it, as much as I could look forward to any full moon. Dumbledore gave me a small encouraging smile in the astrolabe’s glow, while Madame Pomphrey looked as though she would be troubled by the circumstances no matter what. Severus had kept his expression curiously blank throughout the conversation.

“Well, that is some good news, is it not?” asked Dumbledore, addressing the group cheerfully. “Perhaps with the combination of the fortunate celestial timing and Severus’ expertise, you’ll be feeling good as new in time for the weekend.” 

I highly doubted that would be the case, but if the thought lifted everyone else’s spirits, what harm could it do to let them cling to it. 

“If the moonrise is that late in the day, I may not even need a substitute for my Thursday classes,” I said, feeling a little bit hopeful despite myself. The Wolfsbane potion was such a recent invention that I hadn’t had access to it yet. Perhaps it  _ would _ make a difference, and maybe even help me feel more normal the night of the full moon, whatever normal meant. Madame Pomphrey’s concerned eyes glanced up at me, reflecting the spinning star chart beneath us. What visits to the Whomping Willow was she remembering from my years as a student? My gratitude for the healer’s help back then struck me anew now. If it weren’t for her uncommon kindness and stout courage, I was sure I would not have been able to attend Hogwarts at all, and I certainly wouldn’t be sitting in Dumbledore’s office as a staff member.

“I’ll be sure to visit the hospital wing first thing in the morning,” I told her pointedly.

“You had better,” she said. “I’ll be up all night worrying about you. If you don’t come down in the morning I’ll beat down your door to make sure you’re alright.” 

“Very good, Poppy,” said Dumbledore, then he turned to Snape. “Is the potion ready, Severus?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” said Snape. “In fact, I’ve brought a goblet full with me here.” 

“Excellent.” 

Their exchange had a strangely clipped tone. I wondered if I was imagining that Snape seemed to be avoiding the Headmaster’s gaze. 

“I’d recommend taking the draught now, Lupin,” Snape said as he removed a flask from within his robes and unscrewed the cap. The Wolfsbane potion steamed from the flask’s narrow mouth. “The instructions recommend drinking it for the entire week preceding the full moon for maximum effect.” 

“Well, I suppose I’d better have it then,” I said. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for brewing this, Severus.” Snape looked as though he was fighting the urge not to be sick as he handed me the flask. “I was never much of a potion maker.”

“I recall,” Snape said, stiffening as I brushed his fingers to accept the beverage from him. “And you may wish to reserve your thanks upon me until after you’ve drunk it. I’ve heard that there might be…unpleasant side effects.”

I held it up to my nose. It had an angry, grey scent to it—something dense and metallic. I tried not to grimace as it reached my nostrils and sincerely hoped it would taste better than it smelled. For a moment, Snape had even my sympathy. He must have been enduring its stench while the potion simmered in the dungeons for the past month. 

When I looked up from sniffing the beverage, I found that Dumbledore, Sinistra, Snape, and Madame Pomphrey were all staring down at me expectantly.

“Well, cheers,” I said in what I hoped was a sporting tone as I raised the flask up to my lips. I took a mouthful.

For a horrible moment I sincerely thought Severus actually had poisoned me. The impossibly bitter potion was pure misery. It took all of my will not to spew what little I had drunk from the flask out on the floor of the office. 

I shook and lurched forward in my chair as the room spun around me, the torches and candles swirling like the lights revolving in Sinistra’s astrolabe. The silvery liquid seared my insides as it went down, as though it were slicing through my body with small sharp blades along the way. My pulse kicked into overdrive and I felt my heart jump as though my very organs were trying to pummel the potion back out through my veins. I bolted back up in my chair with a gasp, recoiling as if I had been physically kicked in the chest. My vision browned out and the room went dark until the sensation gradually dissipated to a warm, sickly ache throughout my body. I looked dully up at my colleagues, breathing heavily. Even Snape’s eyes were wide, though not perhaps with fear or concern like the others. 

“That—that wasn’t so bad,” I eventually managed. “Although I’m afraid I’ve spilled some of it, Severus.” The flask had slipped a little in my hands when I blacked out, and the rest of it had sloshed onto my trousers. 

“Oh don’t worry, Lupin. There’s plenty more where that came from,” said Snape with nasty curl to his lip. “Let’s go and have another round, shall we?”

Thinking I was in the clear, I tried to stand up from the chair to follow Severus down to the dungeons, but without warning the ground went out from under me again and I was gone.

*

_ For once Sirius was the one who needed to see Madame Pomphrey, and not me.  _

“You don’t have to stick around for this, Moony,” he said outside of the door to the Hospital Wing. “I know you haven’t slept in days.”

“Neither have you,” I said. “But I’m coming with you.” 

Without thinking twice, I grabbed Sirius’ uninjured hand and walked in with him, holding on to him tight. He squeezed back. 

Madame Pomphrey, ever the saint, didn’t ask any questions when she saw the two of us turn up in the middle of the night, nor when she laid eyes on the injury on Sirius’ arm. She spared me a quick worried look and then gave Sirius the care he needed. I took a seat by the door. Madame Pomphrey led Sirius to a bed further down the wing to examine the wound more closely. 

A funny feeling hit me as I sat there fretting. Worry was something I was extremely familiar with, but worry about someone else was a bit different than the constant torrent of anxiety that came with simply existing as a werewolf. Was this what it was like for Sirius, James, and Peter when they came to see me every month after the full moon? And this particular brand of worry felt like something else entirely than hoping James would make it through a Quidditch match unscathed, or wishing fervently that Peter would pass his exams. No, for some reason worrying about Sirius felt different. 

A knot tightened in my chest at watching his jaw clench as Madame Pomphrey applied some sort of ointment gently to the cuts. She then rewrapped his arm in a clean cotton bandage, with hushed promises from Sirius that he would visit her twice a day for the next two weeks so she could clean, treat, and rebind the wound—and no doubt to make sure that it didn’t happen again—she let him go.

He walked back down the row of beds towards me wiping his hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes and nose. He sniffled a little, but gave me the ghost of a grin.

“Thanks, Remus. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“By the looks of it, you would probably die of a tetanus infection and get expelled.” 

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he said, draping his good arm around me as we walked up towards Gryffindor Tower. “Although you’ll have to explain to me how exactly the dying bit comes  _ before _ getting expelled, I’m not quite clear on how that works.” 

“Well Sirius, to start with there’s this very important thing called an  _ education _ , and one generally receives it in a building called a  _ school _ .”

“Ah,” he said. “There, see? You’ve already lost me.” 

After repeatedly shouting the password (bezoar) at the Fat Lady, we were able to wake her up. 

“There’s no need to screech at me!” she complained woozily as she swung aside. “And at this hour, honestly…”

“THERE YOU ARE!” James yelled at us as soon as we clambered through the portrait hole. He bolted up from one of the chairs by the fireplace and shook Peter awake from where he had been dozing on the sofa. “FINALLY!”

“We’ve been waiting up for you all night!” yawned Peter, stretching out on the couch. “Oh no!” He had knocked over a pile of Chocolate Frog boxes from the cushions beside him. 

“Where have you two idiots  _ been _ ?” demanded James. He tore open a Chocolate Frog box and bit off the head with vigor. “We were worried SICK! We ate ALL THIS CHOCOLATE while we waited for you because we were so distraught!” 

“Did you make up?” Peter asked us anxiously, also ripping open a Chocolate Frog and stuffing it into his mouth. “Remus and Sirius? Are you friends again? I hate it when you two fight!”

I looked over at Sirius, who had been running his hand through his hair sheepishly, then froze as he caught me staring at him. Even though we had just been joking a few moments ago as though everything was back to normal, it felt like something had changed between us over the course of the night. Not because I was still mad or that we weren’t friends, but something felt a little bit different to me than it had yesterday. Sirius gave me a questioning, artless look, which of course completely undid me. A smile crept unbidden into the corners of my mouth, and soon it was tugging at Sirius’ lips as well.

“Yes,” I said simply. “Of course we did.”

“See?” James said triumphantly to Peter while thumping him on the shoulder, causing Peter to choke a little on his Chocolate Frog. “I told you! I knew it! I  _ knew  _ they would.” 

“I have superior taste in shirts and music, you see,” said Sirius. “Remus couldn’t possibly stay away.” 

I looked down, and realized I had completely forgotten that I had been wearing Sirius’ Queen t-shirt this entire time. He hadn’t mentioned it until now, and for some reason, I found that hilarious. I burst out laughing. Sirius smiled and I melted a little. James rolled his eyes and lobbed Chocolate Frogs at the two of us. Peter burst into tears. 

_ Even though there was nothing they could do to change what had occurred that particular full moon, and what would inevitably happen again as the next month ripened was entirely unavoidable, I somehow felt better knowing that these three idiots were there to look out for me, and for each other.  _

*

I awoke in my bed a few hours later, not remembering how I got there. The waxing Gibbous moon’s light filtered cool and white over the stones of my chambers in the castle as the room came into focus. The same horrible flask steamed beside me on the bedside table, a piece of parchment tucked beneath it. A second wave of nausea and sweat swelled over me as I propped myself up on the mattress to read the note.

_ Drink the rest of this tonight. _

_ To your health,  _

__ _ Severus _

I groaned. And then realized I really, really needed the toilet. I pushed myself up off the bed into an unsteady sitting position. 

“Let me help, Remus,” said a voice from the far corner of the room. To my surprise, Dumbledore stood up from the shadows where he had been sitting. I supposed he must have been the one to help me back to my quarters after the dismal meeting in his office earlier. 

For a man so old he was surprisingly strong. Without protest, I allowed him to steady me as I made my way to the latrine. I kept quiet partially out of my own embarrassment, but also because I was afraid that if I opened my mouth to say anything I might vomit. After a few undignified minutes in the bathroom though, I felt better, and emerged feeling considerably less dizzy and a little more like myself.

“Thank you,” I said as I crawled back into bed. “That stuff is vile.”

“I surmised as much,” Dumbledore said.

“I don’t suppose it can be combined with hot chocolate?” 

Dumbledore shook his head. 

“I’ve asked Severus if we can temper it with something more palatable, but apparently sugar or alcohol render it ineffective. It seems to have been designed with the safety and comfort of others in mind, rather than those who must imbibe it,” he said sadly. “I’ve been doing some reading, and the potion really is a nasty piece of work. The ingredients are derived from the poisons used on weapons to repel wolves from early human settlements. Ingenious, but clearly inhumane.” 

I smirked at his word choice. Technically speaking, “inhumane” just about summed up my life experience from age five onward. 

“Did you see Severus’ note?” he asked.

“Yes,” I grimaced, and reached for the flask from the table. “One thing’s for sure, I’m going to be a whole lot thinner once this week is over.” Then I paused, unsure of how to ask for what I knew I needed, but as usual, Dumbledore seemed to know just the right thing to say to comfort me.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me to, Remus.”

“Thank you, sir,” I muttered as I stared down at the flask in my hands. “I’m sorry.”

“What on earth are you sorry about?” 

“All of this. I just feel like I’ve created a whole lot more work for you, for Poppy, for everyone. Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to have someone else less complicated and dangerous teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

The Headmaster clasped his hands together in his lap and shook his silvery head.

“Remus, I must admit that I fail to understand your constant need to apologize for who you are. There is nothing to be sorry about. Our students are lucky to have you. Hogwarts is lucky to have you. I am eternally grateful that you joined the staff. Even Professor Snape is fortunate to be your colleague, although he may never admit it.” I raised my eyebrows at his last point.

“I’m not sure he sees it that way,” I said. 

“Perhaps not,” said Dumbledore. “He did offer to help me bring you back to your quarters, but I declined his generosity, as I found his bedside manner to be somewhat wanting.” 

That had to be the understatement of the century. 

“However, he did insist though that you were to drink the rest of that as soon as you woke up,” The Headmaster added, nodding towards the remainder of the potions. “And I’m afraid we ought to listen to his advice.”

“Alright,” I sighed. “Bottoms up, then.”

Dumbledore watched as I unscrewed the top of the flask. There was nothing for it. Without hesitation I gulped down the rest. 

The one good thing that could be said for the Wolfsbane potion was that it got easier to take as the week went on. The second draught went down more smoothly than the first, and after the initial shock to my system, my reactions to it lessened. The taste did not improve, but at least I wasn’t blacking out any more or losing my dinner each time I drank it. It was a good thing that it needed to be ingested in the evenings though because I couldn’t imagine teaching after swallowing my daily dosage. 

And truth be told, it kept my symptoms somewhat at bay. So much so, that a small, silly part of me hoped that perhaps I wouldn’t transform at all; that the moon would rise above the horizon line on the thirtieth and that I might simply have a cozy and quiet evening by the fire reading a book. Unlikely. At the very least I felt well enough to teach all of my usual classes the following Thursday.

The day sped by in the way that only a day that lies between you and something you’d rather avoid can. Before I knew it, dinner in the Great Hall had ended and I was walking numbly back to my chambers, followed closely by Snape, who carried a goblet full of the detestable potion, and Professor Flitwick, who had a series of spells in mind to seal off my door until dawn. 

A house elf had already helpfully put down a water dish and some food in a bowl in case I got hungry during the night. Snape handed me the last goblet full of Wolfsbane for me to take for this cycle, and I swigged it down, hardly noticing the foul taste any more, and handed the cup back to him. Despite the tonic, I was beginning to feel the old hammering pain drumming up in my bones and my senses were sharpening with each minute that passed. Any illusions I had that the potion would prevent my transformation had slipped away with the sunset. Shadows were becoming clearer in the corners of the room and the tang of Snape and Flitwick’s sweat wafted towards me through the air. 

“Not to be rude, but I think you two ought to leave,” I said to them both. 

“Very well,” said Flitwick nervously. “Best of luck, Remus.” The charms professor beat a hasty exit through the door as I tugged my jumper over my head. My flesh felt like it was crawling. I started pacing the room, trying to outrun the sensation.

Snape walked towards the door, but turned to give me one last contemptible look. 

“See you on the other side, Lupin.” It was his best attempt at his usual sneer, but I wasn’t fooled. I could smell the fear clinging to his body. I glared over at him, letting a little of the wolf creep into my stare, and to my satisfaction, he actually fled. I heard a few spells murmured, the snick of the lock, and then the deadening quiet of the silencing charm cast over the room. 

I was alone. 

Thus far my chambers at Hogwarts had felt like a luxury, but I wondered whether or not after the night’s confinement they would seem more like a prison. That was something I liked better about the arrangement of staying in the dormitory at Hogwarts and using the Shrieking Shack as a student—I didn’t sleep in the same room I transformed in. I came to detest my childhood room as a boy, and hated the Shack on principle. St. Mungos was the worst of all. 

I continued to disrobe until there was nothing left to do but wait. I lay down on my bed, staring up at the window to the east, and waited for it to happen—for the moon to creep above the trees of the Forbidden Forest and for my body to wrench itself into a new shape. And eventually it did. 

It always did.


	8. Waning Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the full moon, Remus finds gratitude for those who have helped him through his transformations, past and present.

_ A heavy book fell into my lap. The binding was a strange combination of textures, as if strips of hide from different creatures had been sewn together to make the cover. My fingers felt the smooth suede of leather, a sheen of scales, and a coarse hairy pelt stitched with brittle sinew. It smelled terrible.  _

“What is this?” I asked Sirius as he plunked down beside me on the common room sofa. I had been studying by the fire as a grey Sunday rain pelted the windows of Gryffindor Tower, trying to catch up on schoolwork after the chaos of the past few days. Cups of tea gone cold, my own spell books, and parchment gathered around my feet before the crackling logs. 

“This is the solution to our problems, Moony,” said Sirius with a crooked smile.

“This?” I held up the tome. A peculiar kind of aura clung to the book—not dark magic, but something else, something strange—almost bestial. 

“Open it up.”

Carefully, I cracked the book open. The title scrawled across the first page in a winding path of lettering, almost like animal tracks meandering over the vellum, but the text was all in French and I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. I thumbed through the delicate pages where the script became denser and the characters more indecipherable, but illustrations in ink showed scenes of human bodies shifting into creatures that were all too familiar to me. For a moment, an insane idea gripped me.

“Is this—is this some sort of cure?” I asked Sirius. The smile on his face slipped a little. 

“No, Moony,” he said, and my heart sank. Of course it wasn’t a cure. There was no such thing. Still, the hope sometimes sprung up in my mind; a wish unlikely and unfulfilled. “It’s a treatise on transfiguration. A particular kind of transfiguration. One that dear Minny’s not allowed to teach us.” 

I frowned, trying to puzzle it out. Human transfiguration was illegal unless…

_ “Animagi?” _

Sirius nodded, the smile returned to his face. I handed the book back to him annoyed. If this was a joke, I didn’t find it particularly amusing. 

“I hate to break it to you, Sirius, but I already turn into a horrible creature once a month without even trying, and I’m not really interested in accessorizing.”

“Not you, Moony. Me. And James. And Peter. Don’t you see?” he said. No, I did not see and I was not entertained. I started to collect my things from the couch, thinking that maybe if I went to the Library I would be spared whatever harebrained scheme Sirius was hatching, but he grabbed the sleeve of my jumper and pulled me back onto the sofa.

“Sit down, you thick prat and hear me out.” 

Crossing my arms, I turned to him.  _ Oh no _ . There it was, that insane glint of an idea in his eye that either meant something totally brilliant or totally mad was brewing in his head. 

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Ever since McGonagall told us about Animagi in third year—I just couldn’t figure out how to do it,” he said.

“I don’t understand, and what’s more I’m not sure that I want to.” 

“Moony, werewolves can only infect humans. But if  _ we _ could transform too—the three of us—then we wouldn’t be at risk. And that means we could be there with you for the full moons.” 

As I suspected—totally mad. I shook my head.

“For one thing, what you’re talking about is illegal. And horrendously difficult. If it was hard for McGonagall to pull off, then it will be impossible for you three mountain trolls to manage,” I said, hoping I could squash this idea before it grew contagious and spread to James and Peter, who would probably go along with whatever nonsense Sirius presented them with.

“It’s time consuming, but not impossible,” said Sirius stubbornly. 

“How do you know? The whole thing is written in bloody French!” I said. 

“ _ Tu oublies un de mes nombreux talents _ ,” Sirius drawled, sounding bored, and I had to admit, incredibly sexy. My eyes widened. 

“You speak French.”

“Of course I speak French. All the Blacks speak French.  _ Le français est la partie facile _ ,” he said leaning back on the couch, looking rather pleased with himself as I blushed. Whatever he was playing at, this wasn’t helping. I shifted my books in my lap and tried to ignore him. “Anyway, I’ve read the whole book and we can do this, I’m sure of it.” 

“Where did you even get it?” I asked, trying to change the subject and prevent Sirius from speaking any more French. It was almost too much to bear.

“Detention,” he said simply. “Remember how Dumbledore said he was going to lock me up for the rest of the year? Well, it turns out my detentions are every Sunday with Madame Pince in the Library, and the desiccated old bat is having me repair rare books from the restricted section, which is where I found this. And since I’ve got special access, it didn’t shriek when I lifted it.”

Sirius flipped open the book, pawing through the pages much less carefully than I would have done, until he came to a section that looked like a list.

“Look, here’s the spell,” he said. “It takes months and the timing is tricky, but the ingredients aren’t that hard to come by. We’ll need Mandrake leaves—Sprout’s got those growing greenhouse three—and then we need some funny moth bits, but I bet I can get those in Knockturn Alley—“ 

Sirius went over the other aspects of the spell, and his ideas for how to meet the requirements. It was complex, but he seemed to have thought of a solution for everything. In the end, I was speechless, bludgeoned into silence by the intricacies of the plan. There was just one thing that I could think of to say to try and put a stop this, but it was a last ditch effort, and I had a suspicion that it would fall on deaf ears. 

“But Sirius—“ I interrupted him at last. “You’ve never seen me transform. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You say you want to protect me, but you’d only be putting yourselves in danger. You don’t know what I’m like at the full moon—what I become.”

Sirius raised his dark brows at me, undeterred. 

“Then show me.” 

“I could kill you.” 

“I don’t care. I want to be there with you.” 

“You’re barking.”

“I know.”

I sighed. This was getting me absolutely nowhere.

“Why?” I finally asked, exasperated. “You could get arrested, nevermind expelled, nevermind the risk of it all going wrong and you being permanently mutilated and spending the rest of your life as half a lobster or something. Why do you want to go through all this trouble? I’m not worth it.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Sirius was giving me a funny look. I squirmed against the sofa’s ratty pillows. “You  _ are  _ worth it, Remus. I would do anything for you, anything to make up for what happened.”

He chucked the ancient smelly treatise behind him on the couch as he leaned in closer to me and grabbed my hands. His palms were warm and there was a heat in his voice that crackled as he spoke.

“I can’t forgive myself for what happened. I just keep thinking about how if I could have just been there, I wouldn’t have fought with fucking Snape. None of it would have happened because I would have been where I was supposed to be.”

He traced his fingers over the scars on my hands and wrists, then looked up at me as he continued brushing the constellations of previous full moons on my skin, as if he could erase the pain and the injuries I had suffered for the past ten years. His touch went straight to my head. My eyelids fluttered shut as I melted into his caress. 

“And where is that, Sirius?” I mumbled.

“By your side, you idiot.” 

I opened my eyes, and suddenly  _ I _ felt crazy. There was Sirius Black, perfect and gorgeous and flawed and much too close to me, and I wanted to do something insane. I wanted to kiss him. Where the feeling came from I had no idea but it only further bamboozled me. His grin broadened at the look on my face. Not helpful.

“ _ Alors, que dis-tu? Allons-nous le faire? _ ” he asked. I stared at him, uncomprehending, every single one of my heightened werewolf senses rendered useless, utterly destroyed. “In other words, Moony—shall we do it?”

“Do what?” asked James from behind us. He had just crawled in through the portrait hole, Peter tailing after him. “New prank?”

_ The spell—or whatever it was that had just passed between me and Sirius—was broken. I slid down away from Sirius and into the depths of the couch, blushing furiously and burying myself in my charms textbook. Sirius leapt up, bounding over to Peter and James to eagerly explain his plan, taking my silence—as I was no longer outwardly protesting—as acceptance of what they were all about to do. _

*

One eye peeled open to cool September sunlight illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air of my quarters. I groaned, rolling over on my back and feeling the familiar aches of my bones, their marrow feeling cramped after stretching out into wolf form. I stared up at the beams of the turret suspended overhead and settled back into my senses to take stock of my circumstances. 

I was tired and my body exhausted, but my limbs and skin were otherwise intact. No cuts, no bruises, no bites. 

My heart swooped up and I bolted up in bed, grinning like an idiot as I ran my hands over my naked body again, just to be sure. Nothing. I hadn’t woken up like this in over ten years, not since my friends and I had been able to spend the full moons together. Even then, we had frequently come home a little banged up from rough housing around the grounds and local village. 

Severus’ potion had  _ worked. _ I couldn’t believe it. If the sneering potions master had appeared in my doorway at that moment, I could have kissed him. I whooped as I got up out of bed and started to get dressed. 

I tried to piece together the events of the night before as I got ready to go down to see Madame Pomphrey and have breakfast. I could vaguely recall the transformation—it had been painful as ever, but the usual bloodlust and febrile energy of the wolf had not come with it. No, instead I remembered the muffled quiet of my quarters, the scents of the castle perking my nose, the sound of a mouse or a rat scratching in the walls, and then curling up with a sigh on the floor and actually falling asleep. It had been unequivocally the most boring full moon I had ever experienced, and I couldn’t have been more grateful.

My reflection in the mirror looked tired—paler and more wan than usual—but I couldn’t help beaming a little. I couldn’t remember being this happy the morning after a full moon since the first time my friend had managed to pull off their Animagi transformations—a thought which brought the other concerns of the present day back into focus. A mass murderer was on the loose, dementors were stationed at every entrance to the Hogwarts grounds, and I continued to hold what might have been the key to catching Sirius Black close to my chest. Still, after such a subdued and gentle moon cycle, part of me thought it was possible that the next nine months would be normal—at least as close to normal as Hogwarts could ever get. 

Madame Pomphrey was delighted to see me that morning. 

“Oh, Remus! You look wonderfully well! How did it go?” she asked me, practically bouncing on her feet. 

“Swimmingly,” I answered. “I am very happy to say that I have absolutely nothing of interest to report.” 

She gave me an appraising look, searching my countenance and body for any injuries, then she shook her head and laughed and I couldn’t help joining in. Remus Lupin, perpetual hopeless case and longtime resident of the Hospital Wing, would not be needing her services this month. 

“I did hope that it would go well,” she said earnestly. “But you never know with new remedies—especially ones that have had such a limited testing pool. We ought to let Severus know, don’t you think? He will be pleased, no doubt.”

“I’d like to thank Severus personally,” I said, trying to wrack my brains about what I could do to show my gratitude, already knowing that whatever it was I might do to extend the olive branch to Snape would probably be met with disdain. “I’ll think of something.” 

“Alright then,” said Madame Pomphrey, smiling, and brushing imaginary dust off of my robes since she could not find anything else amiss to heal or repair. “I’ve always said you two were the cleverest students in your year. I’m glad to see you working together so well.” 

She was in such a good mood that I didn’t bother to correct her. 

That afternoon as I walked down from the castle grounds and past the dementors to the village of Hogsmeade, I had no trouble at all conjuring a Patronus. 

*

_ Sirius, James, and Peter spent the remainder of that Sunday going over the plot to become Animagi, refining their strategies for the most difficult aspects of the spell, while I continued to study in my four poster bed, doing my best not to encourage them. This was truly mad. And as a prefect, I wrestled with the knowledge of what it was they were about to attempt.  _

I could only have imagined that Dumbledore even made me a prefect because he hoped that I might somehow rein in the antics of my three friends, nevermind the fact that they were all completely unsuitable for the job given their records of troublemaking. James could maybe have been an eligible candidate if he and Sirius weren’t always egging each other on to new and ludicrous heights of misbehavior. Peter would fully admit that he was not up to the task—he could barely stay on top of his school work as it was. Sirius pointed out the advantages of me receiving the badge before I had even pinned it on my robes, noting that I was conveniently placed to look the other way when practical jokes were afoot. 

“Moony, you don’t want to hear this bit—“ he would say as he cupped his palms over my ears, then yell to the others. “What Remus doesn’t know won’t hurt him!” And the chaos would proceed as if I weren’t present, which of course was exactly what was happening right now. 

We made our way down to breakfast the next day with the three of them yammering on nonstop about the treatise, though they had the good sense to lower their voices at the breakfast table so that other students wouldn’t overhear. James cast a muffliato charm over our group as they went over the finer points of their plan, but was interrupted when Lily Evans appeared behind us, her brilliant red hair catching the morning sun. James’ concentration on the muffliato spell evaporated on sight and suddenly the sounds of the Great Hall became louder once more.

“What are you four up to?” she asked.

“Evans!” James said, and began doing that ridiculous thing with his hair, running his fingers through it to make it deliberately stand on end. “How spiffing of you to join us, won’t you take a seat?” Sirius, Peter, and I did our best not to laugh.

Lily wrinkled her nose and gave James a stare that would have wilted Devil’s Snare. 

“Never in my life, Potter,” she said. James deflated a little over his pancakes and his stupid hair drooped. “Now what in Merlin’s name is going on?”

“Why Lily, whatever do you mean?” asked Sirius innocently. “Are you implying that we might be up to mischief? What on earth would have given you that idea?” he asked as he stuffed the treatise book back into his bag. Lily’s eyes narrowed, and their piercing emerald gleam glanced to me and Peter, the two most likely to spill the beans. I said nothing. Peter gulped.

“It’s too quiet,” she said shrewdly. “Nothing has exploded or gotten smelly or annoyed anyone in the castle on purpose since Friday. And that means you’re plotting something. I can feel it.” 

“You wound me, Evans,” said Sirius, flinging himself down on the bench as if he had been shot with an arrow, and landing backwards in James’ lap. “What an undeserved assault on our collective character!” 

“Pay no attention to him,” said James, standing up suddenly so that Sirius’ head smacked loudly against the breakfast table. Peter and I winced. “We are simply here to provide the castle with a necessary dose of good humor, and have dedicated our years of study to—“

“Being a nuisance?”

“—making life more interesting—“

“Dangerous would be more accurate.“

“—through tireless efforts and careful planning—“

“ _ Marauding _ , you mean?”

“—we enrich the lives of our fellow students—“

“You are so full of shit, Potter, it’s no surprise your eyes are brown.” 

James, bless him, straightened up the best he could under the circumstances. “They’re hazel, actually—“ he protested. 

“And Remus!” Suddenly her focus and fury turned to me and I could feel myself turtling into my robes. “How can you sit here while these three get up to no good? I thought Dumbledore said we were supposed to be a team.” She turned on her heel and left the Great Hall. James spluttered unintelligible words at her back as she marched on towards the exit. Sirius emerged from the bench, rubbing his head.

“Oh good, is she gone?” he asked. James looked briefly bereft at the reminder of her departure, then the three of them went straight back to putting their heads together. I returned to re-reading my charms essay, doing my best to block them out, but we didn’t have long to wait before another visitor arrived, this time even more unpleasant. A familiar scent of frog spawn and smoke drifted over to my nostrils, and I noticed Sirius stiffen on the other side of the table. 

“Well, well, well—it looks like the gang’s all back together, doesn’t it?” 

I turned around and saw Snape staring with unconcealed contempt at the four of us, but most particularly at Sirius. 

“It seems that shame has no bounds, Black. I would have thought you would have had the decency to remove yourself from your little clique after the events of Friday evening.” 

The hatred on Snape’s face was matched only by the look in Sirius’ eyes. Sirius stood up, his hands on his wand, looking ready to hex Snape if he so much as breathed.

“That’s not how friends work, Snape,” said Peter.

“But we wouldn’t expect you to understand, Snivellus, seeing as you haven’t got any,” James added, bristling. 

“Ah, friends, is it?” sneered Snape, his eyes flitting nastily between me and Sirius. Sirius’ knuckles were white on his wand. “ _ Just _ friends?”

“What are you playing at, Snape? Spit it out,” snarled Sirius. 

“Perhaps werewolves are more like dogs than I thought,” spat Snape. I felt the color leave my cheeks. “They must be incredibly loyal, even when that loyalty is misplaced. The same might be said of our Headmaster. Frankly, I am astonished that you aren’t in Azkaban for what you did, Black—”

“I had no idea that pustules could walk or talk, did you, Peter?” said James loudly, trying to drown Snape out.

“No, but I suppose it's no surprise that when they do speak only slime comes out,” said Peter, even louder than James. Heads were beginning to turn in the hall up and down the breakfast tables.

“—though maybe Dumbledore didn’t send you there out of kindness, Black, knowing that you don’t have a wealthy family any more to bail you out,” Snape hissed through clenched teeth. “What a loss to wizarding society it would be if you were locked up for the rest of your life.”

_ Immobulus _ I thought as hard as I could, pointing my wand under the table at Sirius and he froze before a spell could reach his lips. Peter and James looked ready to fight, but instead I glared a warning at them and turned around to face Snape. 

“Severus, if you have a problem, let’s settle it, you and I. Leave Sirius out of it.” 

Snape sneered at me, as if I had acted just as he predicted I would. 

“As you wish, Lupin,” he said. “Merlin forbid anything should come between the two of you.” But then he thought better of it and stalked off to the Slytherin table. I released Sirius from the immobulus spell. He shook with rage as he watched Snape take a seat across the hall.

“You should have let me go after him, Remus,” he said quietly as continued to glare. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because despite the fact that I  _ do _ tolerate a lot of nonsense from the three of you, I won’t be complicit in an act of murder. Not today, at least.” 

“Fine. If you insist.” Sirius collapsed on the bench, looking as though he had just swallowed a knarl.

“It’s alright, mate,” said James, returning to his pancakes with relish. “I cast a toenail growing hex on him while you two were staring daggers at each other. He should start feeling the effects just about—“

A howl emanated from across the hall. Snape leapt up from the bench and was ripping off his shoes and socks which had great claw-like nails protruding from the toes. His pallid feet became even more encumbered as the growths continued to spiral out of control and curl around his legs. The hall was in an uproar as he fled tripping from the room. Peter guffawed appreciatively, and James started to laugh but a withering glare from Lily further down the table silenced him. Sirius was still too upset to truly enjoy the prank, but looked somewhat mollified. 

_ I did and said nothing, thinking it best to let it all play out and not put myself in the middle of any more trouble. How could I, when my only friends in the world were willing to go out on such a limb for me, determined to risk their lives for me as they were?  _

*

Was that what I was doing now, looking the other way once again as a serious threat prowled just beyond the castle walls? And I wondered, was there anything I could do to make up to Snape for the years of childhood loathing? I strode through the village of Hogsmeade, enjoying the sensation of a little extra money jangling in my pocket, and trying not to imagine what James or Peter would say if he knew I was looking to spend a portion of my energy and paycheck on thanking Severus Snape of all people. 


	9. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the October’s full moon comes Halloween which Professor Lupin hopes will be an uneventful day for Harry Potter.

With a tip off from Aberforth at the Hogshead that Snape had a preference for elf wine, I purchased a bottle and then headed over to Honeydukes to replenish my own chocolate supply. On a whim, I had bought two small bouquets of flowers for Professor Sinistra and Madame Pomphrey on the way, as well as a bottle of mead for Dumbledore and a special quill for Professor Flitwick. It was my way of trying to say thank you for their help with my first full moon. It felt extravagant, given my usually frugal habits, but I wanted to show my gratitude to them somehow. Even these felt like small offerings of thanks compared with the risks they had all taken on my behalf. 

Yet far from the usual chipper atmosphere that I usually associated with visits to Hogsmeade, I found that the afternoon had turned chill as a damp fog swept down from the mountains in the distance. The source of the foul weather soon became clear as I strode back down the High street. Dementors swirled around the edges of town, their robes billowing eerily behind them as they glided past the brightly lit windows of shops and eateries, their visitors looking momentarily downcast as the cloaked figures passed by. There would be a break in the conversation, a vacant, gloomy expression in the eyes of Rosemerta’s patrons, and then it felt as though the lamps got a little bright once they had drifted away.

The reason for the extra security glowered at me from each door, lamp post, and window. Sirius’ wanted posters were plastered all over town. I wondered if I would ever get used to seeing them, or if the jolt in my stomach would eventually go away whenever I came across them. How likely was it that Sirius would actually try his luck in Hogsmeade? It would be a foolish and bold move to say the least, but then I remembered—this was Sirius Black we were talking about. Foolish and bold were textbook Padfoot. 

An uncomfortable thought snuck into my mind as I walked into Honeydukes, the bell jangling above my head as I crossed the threshold. It crept up through a long forgotten secret passageway in the basement of the shop, clambered out from the flagstones and rooted around in the crates of Peppermint Imps and jars of Sugar Quills. How many times had James, Sirius, Peter, and I stolen out of Gryffindor Tower in the middle of the night to nick sweets from Honeydukes through that very tunnel? Did anyone else know that it was there, and was anyone watching it now, if it even still existed?

The trouble with secret passageways was that they were just that—secret. There wasn’t anyone I could ask to see if it was monitored or still passable. To do so would of course reveal that I knew about it, and that I hadn’t told anyone since returning to Hogwarts a month ago. Not exactly a good look for your newest hire, who also happened to be a werewolf.

This, I supposed, was the crux of my question when it came to my knowledge about Sirius’ Animagi form. Sharing that information would reveal my own unwanted secrets. I had two choices: Tell the world Sirius’ secret, how it came to be, and have it be widely known that I was a werewolf, or keep quiet and keep my job. Though it felt cowardly to admit, I did not want to share that information for my own sake, as well as some unformulated thought I could not quite put into words. I supposed that there was no use in continuing to fret over it if deep down I had already made up my mind to remain silent. After all, Sirius hadn’t gotten anywhere near the castle, and so far, Harry Potter was perfectly safe.

Strolling among the rows of colorful lollis, Cockroach Clusters, Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans, and Chocolate Frogs, I pretended to browse despite knowing perfectly well that I was a creature of habit and would be buying the same sweets I had since childhood. With a pang, I remembered which ones were Peter and James’ favorites (the Chocolate Frogs and Beans, respectively), and wondered how they would judge my actions now. Would they be disappointed that I had not gone further to help apprehend Sirius? Or would they understand? 

I thought miserably of Peter’s last stand and the photos of the disastrous scene printed in the  _ Prophet  _ afterwards; a street blown to pieces with broken pipes oozing London sewage. Bodies strewn among the bricks and cobblestones as Sirius, laughing, was led away by Aurors straight to Azkaban—without a trial. Below the fold there had been a reprint of the Potter’s house, blasted to bits by the curses Voldemort had used on James, Lily, and Harry the night before. Remembering their sacrifices, I hoped my friends would forgive me my cowardice. Seeing as they had each carried the Animagus secrets to the grave, I thought they might be able to understand my need to do the same. 

I found myself staring unseeing down at the Honeydukes window display of cherry red candied apples and spun sugar leaves turning from green to red and gold and brown before my eyes. Flames flickered in jack-o-lanterns carved from solid blocks of chocolate until a dementor drifted by the leaded glass, snuffing the candles out. Startled, I took a step back, and returned to my quest for chocolate, trying to attribute my gloomy thoughts to the dementor’s presence rather than my own guilty conscience. 

“Those dreadful dementors!” said the balding shopkeeper from behind the counter, sweat glistening on his brow. “They’ll be the death of the village, if you ask me. Driving off all of our customers!” He was lugging a crate marked “Jelly Slugs” which he set down on the candy counter, then paused in his rant to wheeze momentarily.

“Are they bad for business?” I asked as I carried my purchases up to the till, noticing he had left the door to the cellar slightly ajar behind him. I craned my neck slightly, trying to get a glimpse of the trap door at the bottom of the staircase. 

“Bad? They’ve practically made it extinct!” he blustered. “Present company excluded of course, sir.” 

“I’m sorry to hear it. Have you had any trouble?” I asked. Surely if a mass murderer was trying to break into your shop, one would notice. If nothing was amiss, then surely I had nothing to worry about.

“With Sirius Black you mean?” He jerked his head towards yet another wanted poster pinned behind him on the wall. “Oh no, no sight of hide nor hair, as they say!” 

The register dinged as he punched in the many chocolate items I had stacked up before him. I glanced past him through the cracked door down towards the cellar. What little I could see appeared to be in neat order with the flagstones looking undisturbed and dusty. The square flat one that was the entrance to the passage looked as though it hadn’t moved in ages. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that there was no trace of Sirius’ scent mingled in the sugary air.

“And who's the lucky lady who will be receiving all of this?” The shopkeeper asked with a roguish grin. 

“What?” I asked, confused. He gestured to my purchases on the counter, then to the bottle of elf wine and flowers tucked under my arm. 

“This chocolate would pair nicely with the wine you’ve got there,“ he said, winking. “Nice romantic evening for the misses, eh?”

“Oh um, there’s no misses,” I mumbled, juggling the flowers and wine as I handed him some of my gold. 

“Ah,” he said. “Well.” 

He left my change on the counter and then bustled off without bagging up my chocolate, carrying the same box of Jelly Slugs back down to the basement and shutting the door, not realizing that he had not unpacked any of the Slugs before he brought it back down. I took the liberty of helping myself to a paper bag to carry my items before I made my way back up to the castle, hoping that the man had just been rude due to the stress of continually having dementors hovering about Hogsmeade, and not the other reason that came to mind. 

*

“I hope the flowers are not for me, or I may vomit,” said Snape from his desk after I knocked on the door to his office. 

“No,” I said with a wry smile. “They’re not. But this is.” I pulled the bottle out of my shopping bag and offered him the elf wine. Snape arched an eyebrow as I walked towards his desk, where he seemed to be in the midst of grading some papers. I noticed that many of them had not received very good marks. 

“What is this?” he asked skeptically, glancing at the label on the wine.

“What does it look like, Severus? I’m trying to say thank you for brewing the Wolfsbane potion for me.” 

Snape’s nostrils flared as he glared up at me. It seemed as though he were trying to figure out something nasty to say, but couldn’t think of what. 

“I assure you I would not have done so if Dumbledore had not expressly requested it,” he said. Of course—Merlin forbid Severus Snape should go out of his way to be helpful or kind to someone  _ without _ Dumbledore asking him to do it first. He made no move to take the bottle from me. 

“That was the best—I mean, the least painful—transformation I’ve had in years,” I said. “And I am perfectly well aware that I wouldn’t have this job if it weren’t for the additional security measures you and the rest of the staff took on my behalf. In other words, I wouldn’t be here without your help, Severus. Thank you.”

He set his mouth in a hard line. He appeared to be continuing to wrestle with whether or not to accept my gesture. Instead of saying anything, his face began to turn an unfortunate shade of puce. 

“But,” I said with a sigh, seeing that my attempts were proving pointless, as I suspected they would. “If you’d rather not accept my gratitude, then I’ll be going.” I turned and walked towards the door to make the rest of my deliveries, which would no doubt be better received. I was almost to the corridor when Snape called out.

“Lupin!” he said sharply, not looking up from his quill as he scratched something out from the paper he was grading. “You can leave the wine.”

With a half smile, I stooped down to place the bottle by the door as I left the office. 

*

A fragile sort of truce formed between us after that first full moon. Severus didn’t haunt my footsteps or needle me as much as he had before, and I didn’t make any more unflattering references to him in my Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. In all honesty, it was probably the best we had ever gotten along in the history of Hogwarts. 

Even my classes were going well, with the students quickly picking up on my lessons about red caps and kappas. With nearly two months of successful teaching behind me, I felt as though I had really earned my place among the staff. Hagrid was still out of sorts about his hippogriff, and Minerva’s never ceased her vigilant watch over the morning papers for news about Sirius Black, but otherwise, things were quiet and unremarkable. Whatever Sirius was up to and wherever he was, he apparently had sense to lay low since the sighting in September, something Professor McGonagall also made note of during our tea, now a weekly tradition, in late October. 

“Perhaps he’s realized that the castle is too heavily fortified,” she said hopefully. “Maybe he’s given up and moved on.”

I highly doubted it. Stubbornness was another trademarked Padfoot characteristic. If anything could keep somebody going through twelve years in Azkaban, I figured that pure spite and stubbornness must have been at least a contributing factor. 

“Perhaps,” I said mildly, taking a sip of my tea.

“Still, Potter should be safe as long as he stays within the castle,” Minerva muttered. It sounded as if saying it aloud were more for her own benefit and reassurance than for mine. “ _ If _ the boy can make an effort to follow the rules for once, that is. He’s not to visit Hogsmeade, you understand, which I am sure he will do his best to get around. I doubt Fudge would have allowed it given the circumstances, even if Potter’s aunt and uncle had signed the form—”

“They didn’t give him permission?” I asked, surprised. 

“Good heavens, no. Apparently Potter pulled quite the stunt towards the end of the summer—blew up an aunt or something along those lines. Quite by accident I am sure, but it seems it did not inspire his legal guardians to give him any special privileges.”

Thus far Harry had been the model student in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but I could imagine a streak of James in him that would make toeing out of line quite tempting, and I was sure James would have been extremely disappointed if Harry hadn’t inherited that particular trait. To be one of the few in his year forced to stay behind while his friends explored the village for the first time—that would be difficult for any teenager. Nevermind if that teenager was Harry Potter. 

I promised Minerva I would keep an extra eye on him during Hogsmeade weekends, for I felt great sympathy for the boy in that regard. There were so many normal things that I was unable to participate in as a child because of my own unlucky set of circumstances. No sleepovers, few trips to the beach, and more time spent in hospital than on the playground. I always wore long sleeves and jumpers to cover up my scars, even in the summer, when other kids would have been running around shirtless. Not that I ever spent much time playing with other children from age five onward.

Harry would have had an even stranger childhood. From what little Dumbledore or Minerva told me, Lily’s relations had not exactly treated Harry as one of their own, either. What might the world have been like, I wondered, if things had gone differently with me and Sirius? With Sirius as Harry’s godfather, I had no doubt we would have taken care of Harry together if anything had happened to Lily and James. 

_ If things had gone differently with Sirius, then Lily and James wouldn’t be dead and Harry wouldn’t have needed any godparents, you nitwit, so stop wasting your time wondering about it.  _

“Are you feeling alright, Remus?” McGonagall asked over the rims of her square spectacles. I gulped, and poured myself another cup of tea, trying to ignore the tremor in my hands. 

“Uh yes, it’s just the full moon coming up. This is always a bad one. Halloween, you know...” 

Minerva nodded, eyeing me beakily. 

“It’s the anniversary of their deaths,” she said, her voice tight. “I think of it every year, too. Even more so since Harry started school a few years ago. I’m not sure that he even knows that it’s the day his parents died. Nonetheless, there always seems to be some sort of mayhem on Halloween ever since he arrived, and somehow he’s always in the middle of it.”

“Is that so,” I muttered, blinking furiously, but eventually giving up and just wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my cardigan, only to find Minerva had taken my tea cup away and handed me a tumbler of Ogden’s instead. I took a gulp, welcoming the burning sensation as I drank. She took a swig of her own glass.

“Mayhem might be too kind a word for it, actually,” she went on, then began ticking off various incidents on her fingers. “First year, a troll was set loose in the dungeon by your predecessor, Professor Quirrell. What a disappointment  _ he _ turned out to be. Anyway, Potter and his friends took it upon themselves to stop the troll singlehanded—Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasly were with him. Probably knew three spells between them—or at least Ms. Granger did. Miraculously, they succeeded and survived to tell the tale.” 

This was making even the Marauders annual all-out prank extravaganzas seem quiet in comparison, which I was certain were responsible for several of Minerva’s grey hairs.

“And then the next year, the Chamber of Secrets was opened!” she said, moving on to her next point and taking another drink of whiskey. 

“Really? I thought that was only a rumor!”

“Oh no!” she said, a look of horror on her face. “It was quite real, and home to a basilisk, of all dreadful creatures. It had been running amok all year—petrified four students, a ghost and a cat—Mrs. Norris—not that she would have been any great loss, but still!” 

How on earth had all of this been kept quiet? I must have been more out of touch with the wizarding world than I thought over these past two years. 

“But the basilisk was killed later that June,  _ also _ by Harry Potter,” she continued. “When he went down into the Chamber with Ron Weasley to save the youngest Weasley, Ginny, from the creature. Apparently he pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat (don’t ask) and stabbed it. I don’t dare wonder what on earth will happen this year. Hopefully it will be quite dull.” 

As did I. 

But once again time became less cooperative as the month grew long, and all too soon I was due for my next round of Wolfsbane. Starting the whole cycle again was extremely unpleasant, though my reaction to the potion was slightly less brutal than before. As in September, the draughts went down more easily as the week leading up to the full moon progressed, though this time I could tell that the transformation would be more acute and less forgiving. 

The morning of Halloween finally dawned, driving out grey and haunted dreams from my mind. I had fallen into an uneasy sleep the night before, filled with growling creatures, padding paws, and the whiff of a familiar scent leading me through the Forbidden Forest towards a clearing I never reached before I woke up. I think I must have looked even more peaked than usual at breakfast that morning, hoping I could get caught up on my lesson plans before the full moon. The grindylow I had ordered arrived just as I was leaving the Great Hall, and I was back in my office taking notes for my lecture the following week when I saw a familiar face pass by the open door, looking downcast and disheartened. I immediately invited Harry in, hoping I might be able to keep him company for a little bit while his friends were away in the village for the day. 

I offered him a cup of tea though I only had tea bags, making a reference to the rumors floating around from Professor Trelawney’s prediction that he was being stalked by the Grim. I had meant it as a joke, but it seemed as though he were taking it rather to heart. I almost asked if he had seen a large black dog following him around as a joke, but the poor boy looked so terrified already that I didn’t press the issue. 

The conversation was not going at all how I hoped and I felt very awkward. How was it so much easier to deal with a room full of children rather than one all by itself? Ironically, Sirius was always the one who was good with Harry as a baby. I had always felt stressed when James and Lily handed him off to me, worried that I wasn’t holding him correctly or that I would do something wrong with his nappies. It was clear that Harry remembered nothing about our time spent together when he was a newborn, and that he hadn’t even known who I was when we met on the train. Maybe that was all for the best, but what would Prongs do, I wondered, or Lily, if they were here? And what could I do in their stead? There was no sense in pretending that Harry wasn’t upset, because it was clear that he was. I decided the best thing for it was to be direct and ask him what was wrong. I thought I might as well ask, even if it didn’t go anywhere.

I turned out that he had been mulling over the boggart lesson at the very start of term and why I hadn’t let him fight it. I explained my concern that it might take on the shape of Voldemort, but it turned out I was wrong. What Harry Potter feared most in the world were dementors—in other words, fear itself. I leaned back in my seat, impressed. I knew that James and Lily would be very proud to hear their son’s answer right now. And Minerva, too, if she were here. 

But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to me. There were few other students who had been through as traumatic an event as witnessing their parents being murdered by Lord Voldemort. A creature that would remind you of the trauma of that memory was a perfectly logical fear. 

Speaking of trauma, Severus alighted in the doorway at that very moment, holding a smoking goblet of the Wolfsbane potion. I tried not to grimace as he walked in, not looking forward to consuming it whatsoever, although with each hour that passed by I knew that I needed it, perhaps even more so than last month. Harry looked quite alarmed as I drank it, as though he expected Severus to have handed me something that would have made me drop dead on the spot. And perhaps Harry wouldn’t have been far off once upon a time. I took a gulp, then blanched as I felt the potion coil metallically around my insides. Clearly social hour needed to come to an immediate end. 

I put on a brave face for dinner that night, popping down to the feast briefly and chatting with Professor Flitwick before it was time for me to retreat to my quarters for him to seal me in. But before I knew it, the door to my tower room was locked, the outside world fell silent, and I was inside, alone.

I paced my room once more, feeling my bones creaking and realigning as the moon crept above the treeline. My mind kept flickering back to my conversation with Harry while I waited for the inevitable to come to pass. I hoped that our chat might have made Harry feel better this afternoon, and that perhaps now that his friends had returned from Hogsmeade he would have an uneventful but safe Halloween as a result. No basilisks, no trolls, and no Sirius Black. 

At last as the moonlight slipped into my room, I transformed, not knowing just how wrong I was about to be proven to be. 


End file.
